


And He's Still Left with His Hands

by witchmd13



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Friends to Lovers, Good morgana, Hands, M/M, Magic Reveal, Merthur - Freeform, POV Arthur, Slow Burn, Softness, Touch starved Arthur, don't know how tags work anymore, hand kissing, happens somewhere in season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26629654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchmd13/pseuds/witchmd13
Summary: Hand-kissing is a gesture indicating courtesy, politeness, respect, admiration or even devotion by one person toward another. A person should only kiss the hand of someone who’s of the same social status or higher.“A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the riverbut then he’s still leftwith the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it awaybut then he’s still left with his hands.”Based onthis postI made on tumblr.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 109
Kudos: 455





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a direct quote from a Richard Siken's poem:  
> “A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river  
>  but then he’s still left  
> with the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it away  
>  but then he’s still left with his hands.”

Arthur never quite knew what to do with his hands.

Arthur was a warrior, has been trained to be one since he could walk. His first memory of being told he was going to be a knight was when he was three, but he had a feeling his father had been talking about it long before that. So it came naturally to him, holding a sword, knowing how to swing a mace or string a bow and arrow. He knew what he was supposed to do with his hands then; don't let the other person come too close, move your hands like you've been taught until you get your shot and go for it, a single well-aimed blow. His hands had purpose then, to protect what he held dear.

Arthur was the Crown Prince, so he was taught how to think strategically to insure the safety of his future people and his future kingdom. He was taught how to write speeches and how to properly address the public, how to use his voice to annunciate the intent of his words, and how to use his hands during both. He was taught proper etiquette and how to address court, how it was proper for him to receive compliments and praise from courtiers and statesmen who all had different intentions behind their words. He was taught politics and diplomacy and he was very good at noticing signs of hypocrisy when he needed. His hands had purpose then too, to wave and shake another, to be raised to silence a room and to hold a lady's hand when she was being introduced to him.

Pure gratuitous affection with no conditions or reasons behind it confused him. Of course, he knew mothers and fathers cared about their children and loved them unconditionally, but he was never a firsthand receiver of such affections. Uther was a good father and Arthur knew he loved him in his own way, but Arthur knew he wasn't a physically affectionate person and it never bothered Arthur, not really. His family was different, that was all. _He_ was different. He was the prince and he wasn't a fool to believe any affections he would receive wasn't without a motive, so he learnt to accept that.

The first person to hug him, really hug him, was Morgana.

The Lady Morgana arrived to Camelot a girl of ten summers. She was shy at first, eyes shot and rimmed red when Arthur first met her, a boy of eight. He remembered being confused at this girl with sharp deeply sad eyes who was going to live with them and be his father's ward, sharing what little affection his father showed him as it was. He didn't understand why a little girl, who didn't even have a father or a mother, was going to live in the castle. She wouldn’t fit into any role around him; she wasn't a governess or a maid, and she wasn't a _lady_ either, at least, not like the ladies of court who confused him (they did not _scare_ him because he was going to be a knight, just like his father, and knights weren't supposed to be scared of ladies, they were supposed to protect them), she was just a little girl, but he knew it was improper to ask, and he didn't want to risk another shouting from his father after the one from the week before when he asked why they didn't have any portraits of his mother (he was later told in hushed tones that his father had burned them all after he was born), so he didn't ask. Instead, Arthur kissed Morgana's hand like he was taught was proper and welcomed her to Camelot.

It took him a while to notice, but Morgana never cried.

Even after Arthur was told the story of how she lost her father in battle and her mother long before that, Arthur never saw Morgana actually cry, and he didn't know what to do with that. Arthur was taught that ladies were weak and needed protection, that they cried if you upset them, but Morgana wasn't like that. _Morgana knew how to use a sword!_ She told him her father had taught her. She was much better than most boys who trained with him with wooden swords (he did not _play_ , because knights did not _play with swords_ ), _and_ she didn't pretend she couldn't fight well just so he would win. She wouldn't let him boss her around either. It was so new and amazing to Arthur that he didn't care that Morgana was drowned in his father's adoration and that she could never do wrong, unlike him, who only needed to step out of line once to get a scolding about proper behavior and how a knight should act.

But Morgana couldn't only hold a sword and fire back insults at him faster than he could manage to respond whenever they had a fight, Morgana also hugged him and laughed with him and didn't tell Uther if he fell when they would be exploring the castle and hurt his knee and cried. Morgana snuck in with him to the vaults to see his mother's things that they were told were moved there after she died (by Gaius, who finally caved in after Morgana's, albeit scary, but effective, persuasions). Morgana helped him make a necklace from leather to put his mother's ring, that they stole from the vaults, around his neck when it didn't fit his fingers yet, and Morgana was the only person he told he wished he had died that night instead of his mother.

Arthur didn't know what to do with that either, but he didn't care much, Morgana was his friend and she liked him. That was at least, until Uther finally caught on to the mayhem they had been causing around the castle after they almost caused the stables to catch on fire during one of their quests, and had Morgana start her classes on how to become a proper lady of court, and Arthur to become a squire.

For years after, Arthur never really had anyone to confided in like Morgana. They still talked, sometimes, but it was all very short and often at court where etiquette ruled every word and move they could say or do, and Arthur was taught later that there wasn't really anyone like Morgana. Other people weren't his friends, they were his subjects or his subordinates. Eventually, Arthur found out that anyone he could ever meet could comfortably and neatly fit into these roles and little squares; that he didn't need to deal with them outside of this structure. His father's always said no one really understood what it was like to be king and the sooner Arthur realized that, the better. Besides, Arthur was comfortable that way. He could never do wrong and anything he wanted was handed to him, why bother trying to make people into something else other than what they were?

Funny how all of that came crumbling down the minute a boy who had no regards to properness or how to address... anyone really came into his life, wreaking havoc in his wake like a force of nature.

Merlin was a mystery to him at first. He wasn't from Camelot, so Arthur reckoned that that must've been why he intrigued him so, his lack of manners and his general existence didn't fit into any square or role Arthur tried to come up with for him. Except, the more time Merlin seemed to spend around him, the more confusing he got. Merlin's lack of regard towards the consequences of his actions seemed to only amplify with time and Arthur surprisingly found it endearing, even if he would never admit to it out loud.

And when it came to Merlin, Arthur felt the same confusion and loss he felt towards gratuitous unconditional affection.

...

Maybe that had been what it was.

Arthur didn't remember how it had happened, what set it off. All he remembered was that he was tired from the road. They had been on a wild goose chase of another magical being the rumors of which having reached Camelot only a few days prior. His father wouldn't rest until Arthur was already riding with his knights north, towards the village the reports said the beast was sighted around. The issue with reports that relied on rumors, however, was that they weren't always reliable, but once the King had heard about the possibility of the situation being caused by a magical being, his mind was set and his orders were already given, and Arthur knew there was no use arguing with his father when his mind was set.

The journey was rough. Winter was nearly upon them and even their thick cloaks couldn't do much to keep away the cold and the exhaustion setting into their bones. Now, it had been two full days since they had started their chase and had evidently lost every trail they had managed to pick up. Arthur had half a mind of turning them back around, whatever his father's reaction to that might be, and considering the state they were in, he feared it wouldn't be much of a choice later either.

His knights were silent, their usual chatter turned into mumbles among them. Even Merlin, riding beside him, was silent, and that alone was enough to put Arthur on edge.

"No more comments about the general state of the universe?" Arthur asked without looking at him. It was a reference to earlier when Merlin had been complaining about the cold and Arthur had asked why he liked to complain so much, Merlin had said he wasn't complaining but _merely commenting on the general state of the universe._

"Nope," Merlin answered with the hint of insolence in his voice and Arthur was already breathing again. "The cold's finally managed to reach my brain."

"The cold can't reach what's already not there, Merlin."

"So you admit it, it _is_ too cold!"

Arthur almost laughed at the exacerbation in Merlin's voice but pursed his lips instead. "Didn't admit anything, I'm merely commenting on the general state of things."

It was then that it had happened, right when Merlin started mumbling something about dollopheads under his breath.

Arthur didn't know if it was their desperation or just a dumb stroke of luck, but something drove the rumored beast right into their path and then they were face to face with a beast at least ten feet tall, hovering over them when it stood on its hind legs, with the wings and head of a hawk and the body of a giant horse, looking like a fictional monster someone invented to scare children at night.

Except the monstrous thing wasn't fictional and was clearly bloody determined to prove it by killing them all, moving its wings in the air and running head first at Arthur and his knights. For a moment, Arthur felt panic consume him, the beast's long wings waving in the air like it was going to fling them all back with one move. But panic wouldn't do, so he forced his rational mind to take over. It was a beast, yes, but they've faced far worse before and all beasts could be defeated, if you knew how.

Years of training kicked in once Arthur managed to shout his orders at his knights, acting on impulse and pure instinct. They attacked in formation, spears and arrows raining over the beast before it shock them off like they were nothing. Still, Arthur's resilience wasn't to break so fast.

Everyone formed behind him upon his word once more and Arthur grabbed for a spear and aimed it directly at the beast's heart, throwing it with all his might. Except the thing bounced back, the only damage it managed to cause was to anger the monster; its shrieks loud and sharp in the otherwise silent woods.

The beast stood on its hind legs upon this, its wings open at their widest at its sides, revealing its true size which was probably three times what Arthur had originally expected. It charged at them with freshly renounced ferociousness and peaked its head directly at where Arthur was standing. Arthur jumped back merely seconds before the beast's head attacked, breathing hard. He held another spear in his hand that was lying next to him by some miracle.

Except the beast now flung its wings and managed to fling every single man near Arthur away. Arthur didn't have the time to look or move, he had to take advantage of the fact that the beast's torso was left unprotected. He held the spear once more and aimed with all his might at the beast's heart.

It all happened too quickly, like a blur; first came the beast's shriek, deafening and slicing through the air, causing Arthur to bend down and cover his ears with his hands, not even managing to look up to see if his attack was successful. He was going to know any moment now anyway, because he had no more weapons, even his sword having been flung out of his hand, and if the thing was to attack once more, it was surely to be successful.

The next moment, the shriek stopped and a loud thud followed. Arthur's head snapped up and he looked at the beast on the ground, unmoving and evidently dead.

It took a moment to set in, or maybe he was still trying to determine if the beast had somehow still had life in it and would attack again. When none of that happened, Arthur allowed himself a breath and a smile and turned to his men to share their victory.

It was then that his joy shattered into dust.

Not everyone was on the ground, as Arthur had expected before when the beast had flung them back, except a good few were and among them, he could recognize a small form flung back near a tree trunk farthest from him.

Arthur was running before his eyes could register what he was seeing other than it was Merlin; Merlin's black hair and red neckerchief and bloodied torso, laying in an abnormal posture, laying like he was— _no_ , Arthur could see two of his knights already trying to stop the bleeding, and his eyes frantically sought the rise and fall of Merlin's chest before he knelt beside him.

Arthur was dumbfound, staring as if he had never seen a man injured in battle before, as if he had never seen a man die in battle before.

Except, this wasn't any man. Merlin never got injured. Merlin was _always_ fine. Arthur would be in the heat of battle and turn around and Merlin would be there, cowering behind a tree or hiding somewhere far from the actual fight, but he would be _there_ , and Arthur would tease him about being a coward and Merlin would fire something insolent back and he would be there, fine and smiling and tired and covered in dirt and _with_ _Arthur_ , just as he should be.

Now, Merlin wasn't smiling or firing insults at his prince, and he wasn't cowering for his life. Merlin was hurt and bleeding and unconscious, being bandaged up by one of Arthur's knights because Arthur was too frozen to come near him, didn't know what to do with him, _for_ _him_ , this version of Merlin that was hurt and broken that was so _wrong_. His hands were frozen, didn't know how to make it right, how to fix it, because that was what they were supposed to do, fix and protect, weren't they?

Arthur was aware that they were riding again, he had somehow let two of his men carry Merlin's limp body away when he could feel Leon's hand on his shoulder urging him to stand. Nothing but the image of Merlin's eyes closed, his bloody torso, bandaged in haste to stop the bleeding long enough to get him back to Gaius, before his eyes. Arthur remembered forcing himself to focus on the rise and fall of Merlin's chest enough to move away and let go, allowing his men to carry him away, something vaguely in the back of his mind reminding him of properness and how a prince was supposed to act when one of his men was injured, let alone his servant. He remembered his shaking hands on the reins of his horse, his heart hammering in his chest like he was still facing the beast that tried to peak off his head. He remembered telling himself that he only had to get Merlin to Gaius and everything would be alright from there. Gaius would know how to fix this and Merlin would be alright, because he had to, there was no other alternative, any alternative was unthinkable.

...

Gaius's chambers were empty when Arthur marched into them.

For a moment, panic swept over him, had his men moved Merlin elsewhere? Had something worse happened before Arthur could make it there? Was he too late?

He had wanted to be there the moment he saw the knights taking Merlin up the tower and into Gaius's chambers, but he had had to give his report to his father along with the head of the beast first, and in a daze, he did. His father's congratulations and laugh echoing somewhere far away from him as Arthur nodded, smiling like his whole world wasn't shattering, not wanting to extend the affair longer.

Over the wild beat of his heart, Arthur could hear something moving behind the door that lead to Merlin's room and he was opening the door before he could stop himself to knock. Only spotting Merlin laying on his bed had Arthur breathe again.

Merlin was still unconscious, his brow covered with sweat, looking like he had when he had drank poison for Arthur, except now, his chest was bare and Arthur could see crimson colored bandages wrapped around his torso, already bloody from the wound underneath.

For how long he had stood staring at Merlin's small form, he could not say, all he knew that the next moment, a quiet "sire," brought him back and he turned to see Gaius standing at Merlin's door with a wooden bowl in his hands.

"Gaius," Arthur replied, his voice hoarse and quiet, blinking moisture out of his eyes. " _Is_ _he_ \- how is he?"

Gaius was moving to sit in a chair placed at Merlin's bedside, his hand going for the bandage over Merlin's wound, moving it to reveal an angry slash across Merlin's entire stomach that must've been caused by the beast's wings when he flung everyone away. Gaius was now spreading some kind of salve over it from his bowl.

"He lost a lot of blood," Gaius was saying, "broke his leg and three ribs." He sighed and gave Merlin a deeply worried look. "But he will be fine."

Arthur breathed deeply when he heard that last sentence and felt his legs almost give up underneath him. He grabbed for Merlin's desk and steadied himself. "Are you sure?"

"I'm trying all I can, but I've seen worse, and he will survive this if I have anything to say about it."

Arthur could see it now as he looked at Gaius, how tired and terrified his eyes were even with his usual stern face still looking the same. Arthur's eyes jumped to Merlin at that, whose anguished expression had eased considerably, probably the effect of whatever herbs were in Gaius's salve. Something must've shown on Arthur's face then, because Gaius stood up and squeezed his shoulder.

"Arthur, you should rest," Gaius said, gently but with a hint of his physician's orders voice that Arthur knew from his childhood too well.

Arthur was suddenly aware of how he must've looked, disheveled and covered in dirt and who knew what else, not even sparing the time to wash before he came to check in on Merlin. He was bone tired too, but he couldn't bring himself to leave, couldn't bring himself to look away from Merlin.

"I'll inform you once he gets better."

Arthur was about to argue, but a movement to his right caught his eye and he saw Guinevere rush in with herbs in her hands, handing them to Gaius in a rush. They were talking now as Arthur stared at Merlin's face again, trying to notice any signs of agony or pain returning. They were saying something about herbs not being enough and Gwen not managing to find any. Arthur looked in time to see Gaius give Merlin a troubled conflicting look, before it clicked in.

"I'll stay with him," Arthur said bringing their attention back to him.

"Arthur, you need to rest--"

"I will," Arthur interrupted in his most authoritative voice that he usually preserved to use on his knights. "Once you either of you return to watch him, I'll go, but for now you need to do everything you can."

Gaius sighed, nodding, and looked over to Gwen. They started another discussion, something about chores and ingredients and remedies, but Arthur tuned it all out, too exhausted to focus on anything other than making it to the chair Gaius had been occupying and sit, watching Merlin carefully the whole while. He was only aware that he was alone when he heard the door being shut close.

Had Merlin always looked that small? He couldn't remember.

Merlin had always projected bigger presence, he supposed, how could he not when he managed to run into and trip on the smallest of things, from tables and chairs to his own feet? Arthur could always so easily spot him a room, whether by that mob of black hair over his head or by the way he moved and laughed. Now, Merlin's hair was matted over his head and his breaths ragged in his chest like it was an effort for him to take each and Arthur felt his chest tighten at the view.

In a haze and at loss of what else to do, Arthur reached for Merlin's hand that was laying limply by his side on the bed, trying to do something, anything to ease his friend's pain. Somehow, it worked, and Merlin's pained expression eased once more with a sigh. Arthur squeezed gently, bringing his friend's hand to his lips and giving his knuckles a soft kiss, hoping that the gesture would somehow let Merlin know that he was not alone. 

Arthur relaxed back in his chair once he was sure that Merlin's breathing had returned to normal and sighed, his eyes falling to their joinEd hands, vision cloudy with tears that somehow found their way to his eyes. He couldn't bare to let go, afraid that if he did, something will happen that might take Merlin away from him. 

Gods above, when had he ever been so paralyzed with fear before? 

Never, that was when. He had never been so terrified of losing someone in his entire life, and all he could do was hold the hand of someone he wished he could shield them from pain with his bare hands.

But what good were his hands now? What good are the hands of a warrior that were never taught to hold something with gentleness? What good were hands that were only taught to raise a weapon to protect with force? What good were the hands of a prince that were taught to move and hold another to prove a point? What good were his useless hands that didn't know how to softly ease the pain of someone who meant so much to him? Hands that were never taught how to hold or reciprocate affection? What good was he, with all his power and strength, to protect the person he cared about most? His hands were useless just like the rest of him.

But that didn't matter now. All that mattered now was Merlin. All that mattered was that he had to get better, he had to open his eyes and look at Arthur and laugh at him because he was about to cry just by the idea that Merlin might be taken away from him. And if all Arthur could do was sit by his bedside until he was better, he would do it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’d by the absolutely wonderful [Saltedkiss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saltedkiss/pseuds/Saltedkiss) (@shut-up-merlin on tumblr) who can write the best and fluffiest merthur fanfic, but still chooses to torture me with perfect, heartbreaking angst instead. This story wouldn’t be half what it is without her keen eye for detail and constant scolding about my love for long sentences. I’m beyond grateful for your help, patience, and encouragements. Thank you <3 
> 
> Causal reminder that this story takes place in a land of myth and a time of magic. Historical accuracy was not kept in mind while writing this chapter. 
> 
> I have also decided that the evil Morgana arc didn’t happen, which is convenient for me but, in this case, also incredibly delightful.

“But, Sire, these will take days to finish.” 

“Well, maybe you should've thought about that before you brought me inadequate ones!”

Arthur hadn’t noticed his voice steadily rising until the last word came out as a shout. He hadn’t meant to lose his temper on the training field when the servant helping him into his armor didn’t know how to properly fasten the strains either, but he had. In fact, he had shouted at the lad so hard that he had dropped every piece of Arthur’s armor he was holding and had taken twice the time it was usually needed to help Arthur into it afterwards, which resulted in a late training and Arthur’s sour mood to turn more sour.

No one had approached him as he left the field and marched into the castle earlier either. Even Leon, who usually approached him after training for a discussion of their newest young knights, didn’t bother to come near Arthur as he huffed and glared and went inside.

But Arthur wasn’t in the mood to teach or to humor servants, and so the girl he was talking to now started shaking all the same as she bowed away before Arthur could say anything else. _Great_ , he thought, _now I’m scaring the poor maids too_. _Brilliant, Arthur, just brilliant._ Somewhere, some god was laughing at him and turning his day into a worse one with each passing minute. What was worse was that Arthur wasn’t doing much to stop it either.

“Malice doesn’t become you, Arthur.”

Yes, there was definitely some god who was angry with him, one who was intended on torturing him, because _why else_ would Morgana be passing by the exact same moment he was feeling foolish and cruel to some helpless maid whose only mistake was to talk to him.

“Morgana,” he inclined his head towards her as she made a stop before him, wearing a smirk that promised no good. “I apologize. I didn’t see you.”

Morgana arched an eyebrow. “So you wouldn’t have scared the poor girl half to death if you did?”

“I didn't scare anyone,” he said and moved around her, attempting to leave. If he wasn’t in the mood to humor servants, he certainly wasn’t in the mood to humor Morgana.

Morgana turned to face him all the same. “Yes, and I didn’t come out here because your shouts had reached my chambers making me think there was some intruder in the castle.”

Arthur hardly thought he was being that loud, but he knew admitting anything of the sort would provoke another smart remark, which was probably what Morgana wanted.

“Is there something I can do for you?” he asked around tight lips. 

Morgana’s smirk turned into a genuine smile at that and even Arthur felt his irritation turn into endearment at it. “I fancy a stroll in the garden,” she said. “Walk with me?” she offered him her arm and he reluctantly took it. He knew whatever she wanted to say wasn’t going to sit well with him, but it was better to hear whatever she had to say now and get it over with. Maybe even occupy his mind for a while.

They remained silent until they reached the garden. Winter was fully on them now, but the first snow of the year hasn’t fallen yet and so the cold greeted them with a strong nip at his ears and nose and Arthur tightened his jacket around him. He saw Morgana bring her shawl over her shoulders. She never dressed properly for the weather, but he supposed even Morgana had to succumb to Camelot’s weather like the rest of them mere mortals. He remembered her once telling him that it never got as cold as it did in Camelot in the town she grew up in. He wondered if she still viewed that place as her home and not Camelot. He was about to ask her, but Morgana had now walked a few steps in front of him and was checking a bare branch from a tree they were standing by.

“These are going to bloom into beautiful red roses in the spring,” Morgana said proudly and smiled at the branch in her hand. “We pruned them earlier this month.”

“We?” Arthur couldn’t help but tease.

Morgana rolled her eyes and smirked at him. “Fine,” she admitted. “The gardener did, but it was done under my supervision.”

Arthur chuckled.

Morgana smiled at him and sat on a stone bench a little to his right.

“What?” he asked when he sat next to her but she still wouldn’t quit smiling at him all knowingly.

“I’m glad your mood is improving.”

“My mood didn’t _need_ improving.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot,” she mocked with put-on innocence that had Arthur narrow his eyes at her. “The maids have always liked to run away from you in terror, and that poor lad helping you into your armour this morning just took twice as long because he’s never done it before.”

Arthur didn’t even bother commenting on how she found out about all that and instead looked at his hands, he realized he was twisting them together, which probably confirmed his guilt more than anything. He briefly wondered how he could keep a neutral face in front of the best statesmen who attended his father’s court, but couldn’t last two minutes in front of Morgana’s inspections.

“Arthur,” she called into his thoughts, her voice gentle, and even Arthur could tell she wasn’t after teasing him now. “You know that whatever is putting you in this sour mood needs to be dealt with before you scare half of the servants out of their wits. Did you know that they have a poll to choose who would be taking over Merlin’s duties each week because you're scaring everyone away?”

Arthur tried not to react visibly to her words, but it was Morgana, and of course she picked up on the way he looked away when she mentioned Merlin.

“So it _is_ about Merlin,” she said, sounding too victorious for his liking.

Arthur didn’t bother lying but closed his eyes, if only to do not have to look into Morgana’s and reveal more. “Look, I'll be nicer to the servants, if that’s what you want, alright? Just leave it be, Morgana.” He had meant to leave at that, he was already up, but she grabbed his arm and pulled herself up to stand next to him when he wouldn’t yield and sit back down.

“It’s not only about that and you know it,” she said as she faced him, crossing her arms over her chest.

He should've known she knew more about this than she was letting on. Honestly, how did he get dragged into this conversation again? He wondered if begging her to let it go would be too pathetic… it probably was, but meddling Morgana was scarier than all-knowing Morgana and he wasn’t above it.

“Arthur, I’m not getting involved,” she beat him to say.

Arthur wanted to laugh, but only managed a scoff. “So you're not going to be yourself then?”

Morgana didn’t rise up to his deliberate provocation which only showed how seriously she was taking this. He wondered who told her. Did Merlin? Maybe Gaius? Or maybe it was Gwen, but Gwen didn’t know the details about what had happened and Gaius hadn’t been there. He wanted to ask, but she only gave him a sympathetic look which should've been his first clue that she knew possibly everything. “Arthur, listen to me. Friends fight. Granted you didn’t have to start a fight after the man almost died. But friends fight.”

“Merlin and I aren’t friends,” he countered automatically. He felt like a child, stubborn and spoiled, almost had the urge to stomp his foot on the ground to prove his point, but barely refrained, instead noticed his clenched fists and released them, running a hand through his hair. He supposed Merlin would've liked that. If anything, it would've proven his point about Arthur treating Merlin like he couldn’t make his own decisions like a spoiled prince.

Morgana gave him a look that definitely said she wasn’t fooled just as well.

“What do you want me to do?” He’d meant for it to sound irritated, but instead something genuine also came out laced with it, because if he was truly frightening servants with his temper, he might want to listen to her and it wouldn’t hurt if someone gave him pointers on how to deal with the mess that was him and Merlin at that moment. He didn’t have anyone else to advise him anyway. Anyone else would ask him to tell them everything from the beginning and would probably side with Merlin anyway. It occurred to him as an afterthought that he was seeking help from Morgana of all people, but Morgana knew him, knew he was bad at keeping friendships, and that he lost his temper when he didn’t know how else to react.

Morgana shook her head fondly at him, probably knowing where his train of thoughts was leading him. “I want you to know that what happened wasn’t your fault.”

Arthur looked away to the bare branches that promised Morgana’s roses in the spring. It stung. It was way too intuitive, even for her. It struck too close to home.

Arthur wasn’t a fool. He knew people got injured, even killed in battle. He had lost men before. By all gods, he had lost two men the day Merlin got injured, but Merlin— it shook something inside him, something that he didn’t know existed and it frightened him to the core. He still flinched whenever he remembered that day, still had troubled dreams about Merlin not surviving that fall, and he didn’t know how to deal with it. He's never felt this way about coming close to losing someone before, and he didn’t know what to do with it. Whether in battle or politics, there was always something to do; sometimes brute force was necessary, sometimes patience, and sometimes words were enough. But this, this frightening thought, this helplessness. He felt useless against it and Arthur was never good with feeling useless protecting the people he cared about. He opened and closed his hands multiple times in his lap, as if trying to see if he could.

“What happened to Merlin wasn’t your fault. It was an accident, Arthur,” Morgana went on as if she knew he needed to hear it again. Arthur felt his eyes well up against his control. She was silent for a beat, letting her words sink in, he supposed, before she added, “and locking him up in his room like a child won’t make it all magically better.”

“I haven't locked him up,” said Arthur, clearing his throat and praying that Morgana wouldn’t comment on it. He didn’t know what she'd been told, but he did _not_ lock Merlin up. “He has a broken leg and three broken ribs and he was strutting around the castle helping servants like he wasn’t limping with a cane. He's insane.”

“You were scared. He's your friend and you came close to losing him. I know what it feels like,” Morgana added the last sentence quietly, placing her hand on his shoulder. He wanted to shake her off, but couldn’t. He knew what she was referring to, but he didn’t think it was the same. Her and Gwen, it was different, he didn’t know how, but it was. It still felt gratifying to hear someone try to define whatever he was feeling, to give it a name.

Arthur sighed, knowing there was a great possibility he was going to regret what he was about to say. “What do you think I should do?”

Morgana grinned and didn’t miss a beat. “Go talk to him. Tell him what’s happening inside your head. Don’t lose your temper and use your words.”

…

Gaius’s chambers were empty when Arthur made his way into them. He had a flashback to a different day when he had been bloody, covered in dirt and scared out of his mind and had marched into the same empty chambers. He hadn’t noticed the deep cut on his own back until later that day. Gaius had been the one to point it out, Arthur remembered. He had been later to Gaius’s, of course, to check on Merlin and to get treatment for his own wound but never had he found the chambers empty of any sign of Gaius or Merlin again. Not until now. He supposed it was because he didn’t usually come at that time of day. He usually had training at this time of the morning, but today the snow proved it impossible to do any training and so he had decided to choose his fate.

It was eerie how similarly fearful he felt right then to the days after Merlin’s injury when he would check with Gaius on how he was. Maybe it was the same feeling of dread in his chest that he would feel at the prospect of hearing any bad news about Merlin, the same he was feeling now at having to confront him.

Merlin had remained unconscious for almost two days after suffering his injury. Gaius had said it was because of the blood loss and the fact that his body had needed the time to recover, but Arthur still found himself holding his breath for any bad news whenever he saw Gaius until the day Merlin eventually did wake up. Arthur hadn’t been there when he did, but he was told later and he hadn’t had the faintest clue he was worrying himself sick until the news was delivered to him by Gaius.

The last time Arthur had been here, however, had been three days prior when he had shouted at Merlin like he had never shouted at anyone before and practically dragged him kicking and screaming back to his room.

Arthur didn’t have much memory of the incident. He remembered finishing an extremely frustrating training session with three nobles’ sons who were sent to Camelot to be trained as knights, and that Merlin hadn’t been there. They were terrible, the three of them, but one of them had some potential. Arthur remembered how he had been missing having Merlin around to send meaningful looks his way and to whisper remarks only he'd understand at him, and instead, had to deal with a silent nameless servant who obediently fastened his armor, and politely ended every response with _sire_ , getting on his nerves. He remembered thinking how much of a laugh his entitled behavior would've gotten out of Merlin, Merlin probably would've called him spoiled for good measure too.

It was then, going back into the castle, that he had seen Merlin.

Merlin who was supposed to be resting, Merlin who was supposed to be healing his damned fractures and bruises that he got because Arthur was the most useless human to walk the earth, and Merlin who had been limping with a cane, chatting and laughing with some maid, clearly helping her carry the laundry basket for her.

Arthur had stormed, silently seething, to Merlin and half dragged him, half carried him back to Gaius’s chambers.

Merlin didn’t say a word at first, clearly stunned at Arthur’s behavior, but once they got to Gaius’s chambers, the shouting began.

Arthur didn’t remember half of what they shouted at each other. In hindsight, Arthur knew he let his temper get the best of him and had taken it all out on the person who deserved it the least. Except, Merlin gave back as good as he got. He called Arthur entitled and a prat, coming up with about a dozen other synonyms for the word spoiled, some more colorful than others that would later make Arthur wonder if Merlin had saved them for a special occasion. Merlin told him that he didn’t owe him anything, that what he did in his time was none of Arthur’s business. Arthur stupidly had no other way of saying he was scared out of his mind other than ending it with shouted orders at Merlin to stay in his rooms until he was told otherwise or else.

Now, standing here, facing Merlin’s bedroom door like he was facing an army made up of the five kingdoms combined, he could easily identify that it was terror that he had felt, terror at having Merlin hurt again. He had let that terror turn into anger and had let it get the best of him.

Arthur Pendragon, would rather face a giant beast intending on peeking his head off than tell his closest friend he was terrified of losing him and that he was sorry about it, talk about courage.

Mercifully upon Arthur’s last word, Merlin’s door opened and the man himself limped out, descending the couple of steps in front of his room before he looked up and saw Arthur. He froze for a long moment, leaning on his cane.

It took a moment for Arthur to realize he was frozen too.

Gods, he was a bigger idiot than he had thought if he couldn’t make himself speak now.

“I haven't been out of this room the whole day,” Merlin beat him to say, his voice completely nonchalant to begin with, but quickly picking up an edge as he went on. “I haven't been on my feet even to fetch a glass of water and I haven't spoken to a single servant for two whole days. The only people who've been here were Gwen and Gaius.”

Arthur paused. “That's... good?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “So why are you here yelling at me?”

Arthur stepped back. “I'm not yelling at you.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes suspiciously but slowly walked to one of Gaius’s chairs and sat on it. Arthur hesitated on coming forward to help him. He doubted coming near Merlin at the moment would elicit anything but another dispute before he could say what he needed to say.

"I actually wanted to tell you that I spoke to Gaius,” Arthur said, clearing his voice and bringing Merlin’s wary eyes back to him. He tried to keep his voice as nonchalant as Merlin’s - if he wasn’t going to cave first, why should it be Arthur? “He said it's probably alright for you to get some fresh air.”

"You spoke to Gaius?" Merlin let his voice rise at the end of that question. Arthur suppressed the need to smile in triumph. "Well, I could've told you that myself!”

Arthur shrugged, which he knew was only going to aggravate Merlin further, but made sure to immediately follow it up with “I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” more to his hands before he forced himself to look up, because he was going to do this like an adult, damn it. He forced himself to relax because if his talk with Morgana taught him anything, it was that he wasn’t going to take this for granted again. 

“What?” Merlin sounded completely wrong footed. If it had been any other occasion, Arthur would've felt victorious, but not this time.

“I said,” Arthur repeated. What had Morgana said? Yes, _use your words._ Well, there goes nothing. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I'm sorry. I was being an idiot.”

Merlin was silent for a moment and Arthur wanted to laugh, already feeling lighter. If he had known it would only take an apology from him to effectively shut Merlin up, he might’ve considered that a long time ago.

“Did you just apologize and call yourself an idiot?”

Arthur rolled his eyes and Merlin only stared at him further.

Arthur came closer then, now that he was sure Merlin wasn’t going to start chunking stuff from Gaius’s desk at him. He sat down across from Merlin, who was still staring at him like he had just grown a second head.

"Why don't you get out that book you had with you the other day?" Arthur found himself asking before he could think better of it. He had noticed the book in Merlin’s hand as he dragged him back to Gaius’s. He had it under his arm when he had seen him and Arthur had since wondered about it, but he mostly felt like saying anything to stop Merlin from looking at him like he was possessed by some foreign entity.

Merlin seemed to recover his senses at that and looked sheepishly away. "What book?"

Arthur smiled. Oh, this was going to be delightful. It must've been something Arthur could tease him about for weeks. “The book you were holding while trying to do everyone’s chores while you should have been in bed.”

That earned him a glare. “I wasn’t trying to do anyone’s chores. Daisy is my friend, she asked me about what I was reading and I _offered_ to hold her _empty_ basket, Arthur.”

Arthur never imagined anyone could ever try to inject so much irritation into his words without bursting something. He wondered if Merlin could burst his wound open if he tried harder. He tried to suppress his grin but he knew he failed when he could see Merlin’s lips twitch in what must've been a reciprocating smile, and somehow, he knew he was forgiven.

“Fine,” Arthur agreed innocently, looking over to Gaius’s desk like he was searching for something and drumming his fingers over the surface dramatically. “It's too cold outside for training,” he began. “and unless you figure out a way to entertain me, I’m going to have to look for something myself.”

“Why is it my job to entertain you?”

Arthur shrugged and made a show of reaching over to Gaius’s tubes and papers, making sure Merlin could see him messing everything around.

It didn’t take long before Merlin was huffing. “Fine, fine. God, even the most trivial information in your hands is dangerous.”

Arthur was sure his grin was going to split his face as he watched Merlin get up and bring over a book from one of Gaius’s shelves. It was a thick leather bound book that looked more ancient than most books Arthur’s seen around the castle. He wondered why it had caught Merlin’s eye.

Before Arthur could say a word, Merlin, however, didn’t spare him a look as he sat down on one of the farthest chairs from Arthur, and opened his book. It took Arthur a long moment to realize the bastard was reading _to himself, silently._

“You care to share whatever is so interesting in your book a little louder?” Arthur droned lazily just to cause Merlin to lower his book and give him a glare. Arthur had to fight a smile from stretching across his face. He raised his legs to rest them on Gaius’s desk.

Merlin narrowed his eyes at his stretched legs. “Fine,” he blustered. “But if you fall asleep in your chair while I'm reading, I'm not waking you up.”

“It’s so inspiring how much faith you have in your reading abilities,” Arthur said, which reminded him, “you never told me how you could read.”

Merlin rolled his eyes as he settled back on his chair. “Well, Arthur, I look at letters and let them form words in my head and--”

“I mean who taught you, cabbage head,” Arthur let out an exasperated sigh.

“Oh,” Merlin frowned at the book in his hands. “My mother taught me,” he answered curtly.

Arthur nodded, sensing that Merlin didn’t want to talk about it, and waved a regal hand in a signal for Merlin to begin reading. This, effectively, earned him a huff and a few mumbled words under his breath from Merlin, just like he knew it would.

“What's that?” Arthur asked, deliberately frowning.

Merlin’s beautiful voice immediately filled the room at that, ignoring Arthur’s question completely. Merlin read steadily, his voice losing all edge and anger at Arthur in the process. Arthur doubted he could form the question again in his head even if he tried to repeat it, because the moment the man sitting before him started to read, he found himself entirely entranced in a tale from an ancient time.

Arthur didn’t take long to recognize the battle Merlin was reading about, he had studied it with his tutors, but the way it was written in Merlin’s book was much more than a story. It was more like poetry, if he was being honest, or maybe that was the way Merlin was reading it, and Arthur found himself lost in it without trying. Merlin had a way of narrating that Arthur would never admit to becoming his favorite way of hearing anything just after a single page. When Merlin talked, he let his emotions control his words often, which meant it was usually filled with exacerbation or amusement at Arthur. But when he read, he also let the emotions behind the words dictate his tone of voice, making the words musically ring when they were written to be descriptive poetry, letting them fume and bellow when they were meant to convey heated emotion, and letting them softly carry sadness and longing when they meant to be of separation and sorrow. It filled Arthur’s entire world that he wished to keep listening forever if he could help it.

That was at least, until an involuntary soft grunt of pain slipped between the words and broke Arthur out of his trance. Merlin didn’t stop reading, probably unaware he even let his pain show, but Arthur noticed and he stopped listening immediately. He let his eyes run over the lines creasing around Merlin’s eyes in a grimace and the little beads of sweat that had formed around his forehead.

“You should move here,” Arthur droned slowly.

Merlin stopped, lowered his book, and gave Arthur a confused look. “What?”

“Your leg is hurting you,” he explained. “and it can't be comfortable for your ribs to sit like that for a long time.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, clearly seeing it as another attempt from Arthur to fuss over him. “Not this again,” he protested.

“I'm not saying you should go lie down,” Arthur told him. “All I'm saying is that it's probably better for you to sit on a cushioned chair and bring your leg up.”

Merlin seemed to consider for a moment. He must've seen some of Arthur’s genuine concern in his eyes because the next moment, he moved closer. Arthur made sure not to try to help him because he knew how Merlin would react, so he sat back, ready to stand up any moment to catch him if he swayed. Eventually, Merlin sat opposite him and made himself comfortable. Arthur smiled when he could see some of the lines on Merlin’s face relaxing already, knowing that he was right about it being less painful for him now.

After he settled, Merlin put his cane over a nearby side table and for a moment, seemed lost as he looked around. It took Arthur another moment to realize he was looking for a place to stretch his leg, eventually settling on using the small table because he winced as he laid his leg across the hard surface.

Without thinking much of it, Arthur reached for Merlin’s leg and laid it across his lap.

When Merlin didn’t protest and Arthur looked up. All he could see was Merlin staring at his leg, his face flushed that even the tips of his ears were turning red.

“You need somewhere soft for your leg, the table is going to make it hurt more,” Arthur was quick to explain. He didn’t want another speech about treating Merlin like an imbecile, but Merlin _was_ being a total idiot indeed if he thought placing his leg over that table was going to do it any good.

“Yes, I know,” Merlin mumbled and then brought his eyes back to Arthur like he just realized that he was staring, quickly lowering them back to his book. He seemed to decide that it didn’t matter because he cleared his throat and returned to reading so quickly that Arthur thought he intended to finish the entire book that day.

It was like that that their reading meetings had started.

Arthur didn't particularly care for books. He had finished his education a few years earlier and he never really had any particular desire for more in his free time, not with all the duties he had to attend to all day. He believed he didn't now either, but something about the way Merlin read to him, all soft and absorbed in whatever book he had picked for the day, made Arthur want to read every book in the castle's library with him. 

Winter in Camelot that year had been one of the coldest in years and with it came heavier snow storms and howling wind, it never allowed for any activity outside the castle; training was postponed more and more times until Arthur couldn’t manage it with his knights except once a week, if they were lucky. Hunting was next to impossible. A rarer occurrence was guests arriving from out of the city, so it left nothing than the everyday patrols around the lower town and the castle in the evening for him to supervise, and that left the most of his day to be spent in Merlin’s company.

He knew that something about the whole ordeal should've felt strange to him. He supposed it was spending time in each other’s company without the pressure of anything really around. This time was theirs. Neither had duties or urgent tasks to attend to while they sat together in Arthur’s chambers or Merlin’s. It was one of those rare occasions Arthur didn’t need to think about anything; it was one of the rarer occasions that Arthur allowed himself to think about enjoying his time with a friend. He didn’t remember a time in his adult life that he had allowed himself to do that. It saddened him that perhaps the last person he had done that with had been Morgana. Although, even that was different.

With Merlin, it never felt awkward or forced, or even boring. It never felt like he needed to fill the time with anything in particular. It wasn’t that different from spending the evening around a campfire like they used to do before. Now, though, it felt much more precious, if anything, and Arthur found himself looking forward to them more often than not. Maybe it was how close he's gotten to losing it all that made him appreciate it more. Although, he would admit any of that over his dead body.

Arthur would still find himself going back to the day that started it all sometimes, thinking if there was something more he could’ve done. He remembered how he had spent the entire afternoon and early evening in Merlin's room while Gaius worked on making extra supplies of salves and potions for him. He remembered Gaius’s hand over his shoulder, shaking him awake to tell him to drink some potion to calm his nerves, and how, after it had him come to his senses, he had found himself clutching Merlin's hands in his like they were his lifeline.

He also remembered not being able to let go. Merlin's hands had been so cold and pale in his. They terrified Arthur.

Thank the gods he had left before Merlin had woken up, because he couldn’t imagine letting go had Merlin opened his eyes and looked at him in that moment.

Now, they were sitting by a high window in one of the higher rooms of the castle. It was a small scarcely furnished room that Arthur had found, possibly made to host some low ranking diplomat or visiting noble, but they had lit the fire and sat on a cushioned seat that Arthur’s dragged to be halfway between the fireplace and the window and it felt lived in immediately. The seat was small, so they had to sit closer than they would normally, and Merlin’s outstretched leg lay close to Arthur’s thigh, brushing against him whenever Merlin moved enthusiastically over whatever he was reading, making the warmth that would spread throughout Arthur’s chest whenever Merlin read to him a little bit stronger. Arthur was positive he was getting addicted to the little touches Merlin would give him. He'd sometimes lean on him when they’d been walking for a while, or would just brush against him when they were sitting like this, trying to get more comfortable. Arthur would still feel the touches long after Merlin’s skin would leave his, he'd feel it like a tingle that wouldn’t cease for a long moment. That had never happened before. Arthur was used to Merlin’s touch, casual and with a purpose, but now, after he’s felt those same hands limp and lifeless once, every touch was precious, every brush was dear.

Letting Merlin’s voice drown out his thoughts, Arthur looked out of the window, lazily resting his chin over his hand as he leaned his head on the back of the seat. He watched the sky through half lidded eyes. It was a cloudy day, but a calm one, no snow or strong winds, only the cold and the last night’s snowfall that covered the yard from where Arthur could see it, tricking his eyes into seeing everything in the same shapeless white form.

From beside him, Merlin droned on about cursed Greek heroes trying to outsmart their cruel gods. Arthur had wondered why Merlin liked those kinds of books best, but didn’t ask, not wanting to interrupt the way Merlin’s voice had risen in anger reciting a speech some arrogant army leader was making about fame and riches, about immortality and winning a war that wasn’t his. Arthur agreed with nothing he was hearing, but Merlin seemed to enjoy it, so he let it be and watched Merlin’s hands on the spin of the book instead and how his mouth stretched in a smile around the words he was reading now, like he was mocking them, his face healthy, regaining its usual color from before, his hands looking as strong as ever, but also delicate as they turned pages over and traced words he found particularly interesting, not a trace of pain or hurt in his expression. Arthur wondered how someone’s hands could look delicate and strong at the same time.

“Arthur?”

“Huh?”

“Are you listening to me all?”

“You were saying something about the Trojan war.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. "That was three pages ago. I'm reading about Cassandra. She's something, isn't she?"

Arthur tried to remember what Merlin's read to him about her. "Apollo cursed her to utter true prophecies, but never to be believed. She was able to see the destruction of the entire city and no one believed her, Merlin."

Merlin grimaced. "Well, yeah, that's not her fault though, is it? She still tried to use her power to protect everyone even when they locked her away. She still tried everything to help them, to make sure they were safe."

"I suppose," Arthur admitted, although he disagreed. The entire situation sounded dreadful to him; to know everything, to have all that power and still not be able to use it to protect the people one loved, to be so powerful yet so helpless. He preferred thinking he had a fighting chance even when he didn't. The opposite sounded like a nightmare if he was being honest. But then again, Merlin was probably talking about being in the situation itself and having to choose to run away when everyone thought you were a liar or crazy, or stay and do whatever you can to protect those you loved. 

"I like Hector,” Arthur ended up saying instead and he knew he said the right thing when Merlin smiled indulgently at him.

"Of course you do."

"Hey, he's noble and brave."

Merlin laughed. "And was willing to stupidly sacrifice his life for his people in an unwinnable fight."

"He had to do what he had to do."

Merlin shook his head, smiling again but at the pages this time and Arthur counted it as a win anyway.

"I have to go,” said Arthur.

Merlin looked out the window at that, noticing the sun dipping further in the sky from the looks of it. He tried to hide it, but Arthur could see the flicker of disappointment on his face before he looked back at him.

"I'll try to come by after I'm done with my duties for the evening," Arthur heard himself say.

Merlin's surprised face almost had Arthur take it back. They had just spent the entire afternoon together and now Arthur was trying to extend it further. But that was how it had always been, hadn’t it? Merlin had always been there with him, day and night, unless he had to run an errand for Gaius. It felt natural that they spent these afternoons together too. Besides, Arthur felt better if he could watch over Merlin at all times now, especially in the condition he was in and his tendency to run into objects when he was in full health, let alone with a broken leg and several ribs. He'd just... he would just feel better with Merlin near, that was all.

"I'll be here," Merlin said into his thoughts, stopping them from racing further. "Unless you want me to lie to the King about your whereabouts again to skip your duties, in which case, please don't bother."

"We already established you're a terrible liar, Merlin. Just be here when I get back and try not to break another leg or arm in the meantime," he sighed while getting through the door but could still hear Merlin mumbling under his breath all the same, something about a spoiled child or prince, or possibly both. Arthur yelled an “I heard that!” over his shoulder just for the hell of it, which of course resulted in Merlin’s mumbles to get louder. 

Arthur was smiling like an idiot as he hopped down the stairs from Gaius’s chambers all the way to the council meeting where his father was expecting him.

…

Arthur’s chambers had always been unusually cold at that time of year. As spring began to melt the snow away, the cold castle walls wouldn’t absorb enough sun to warm them up quickly enough, especially at night and especially on that side of the castle.

Arthur wondered two things when he stormed into his freezing rooms. One was what in the hell was making Merlin take so long to get there and light the damned fire, and two was when Merlin’s absence from his side had started to feel like he was a missing limb.

Merlin had been back at his job as Arthur’s servant for about a week at that point, after being deemed healthy enough by Gaius and Arthur checking with him twice afterwards, postponing Merlin’s return as long as he could until he caved in to Merlin’s protests that he was fine. It wasn’t until Merlin was back to his job that Arthur had realized how much he was feeling his absence. That day, he had been woken up by the loud clung of a tray being dropped over a table, and opened his eyes to find Merlin grimacing at the mess he had made. Arthur never thought he'd be happy to be woken up by Merlin’s clumsiness until that moment.

It was like being able to breathe properly again, having Merlin by his side. It was ridiculous how much space the man occupied, how much presence he gave just by being there to receive a look of annoyance or a whispered word from Arthur and give a smart, usually insolent, one back, or by just being there with Arthur, disagreeing and advising and caring. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Arthur felt like he probably should've been worried at how much he's come to depend on that presence, but he found it more endearing than anything. The only downside to it all was he was missing their reading time together.

Merlin had walked into the room a moment later, after Arthur had successfully lit the fire and was sitting behind his desk. Arthur had been staring at the chair Merlin usually occupied back when he used to read to him only a few days before. It had two extra pillows and was close to the fire, Arthur’s was next to it, close enough to allow Merlin to stretch his leg over whenever his position got too uncomfortable. 

Startled by the noise of the door opening, Arthur’s head snapped up to see Merlin walking through the door, carrying two baskets over each other, each filled with clothes and mismatched items, scaring Arthur half to death that he would run into a wall by the way he couldn’t possibly see anything as he walked like that. In fact, it was a miracle he hadn’t run into a wall or fell down the stairs and broke his neck already on the way up there.

“What the hell are you doing?” Arthur bellowed in disbelief.

Merlin grunted and didn’t answer, mostly in favor of throwing the baskets on the ground and doubling down, catching his breath.

Arthur was still staring in disbelief at him when Merlin finally straightened up. Eventually, when he finally seemed to breathe normally again, he let his words come out quickly. “I was trying to come up here as fast as I could to light the fire and I needed to bring these up with me so—”

“You decided it was a good idea to risk falling and breaking your neck?” Arthur interrupted with the same bellowing voice, startling even himself.

Merlin looked bewildered. “What is your problem?” he asked like _Arthur_ was the one being impossible. “I thought you'd be cold!”

“I _was_ cold,” Arthur argued with not much heat behind it now.

“You lit the fire,” Merlin commented after a moment, ignoring Arthur.

“Yes, Merlin,” Arthur retorted. “I do have some survival skills, you know.”

Merlin didn’t bother replying. He sighed softly, picking up a few candles and started lighting them up around the room. Arthur tried to stop staring at him too obviously, his eyes seeking any discomfort or flinch, but there was nothing, only Merlin moving around as usual, clumsily hitting into furniture when he wasn’t looking.

It was only when he came closer to where Arthur was sitting by his desk that Arthur noticed Merlin’s red and sore knuckles. He wanted to bite a smart remark, wanted to tease Merlin about probably trying to clear a path through the snow with his bare hands, but found himself at a loss for words. “You should sit by the fire for a moment,” he ended up saying instead.

Merlin looked over at him from where he was placing the last candle he was lighting in its holder, clearly confused. He stared at Arthur like he's just suggested taking a bath in the melting snow outside would be a lovely idea. Arthur only emphasized what he's said by moving his eyes pointedly towards the fire, making Merlin look between it and Arthur like Arthur was now telling him to stick his hands into it.

“What are you doing?” Merlin asked, like it took his brain a while to catch up to all Arthur had said so far.

“Trying to tell you to stand by the fire,” Arthur retorted simply, looking away to some paper he was holding and had been meaning to read, but honestly couldn’t concentrate enough on the letters to make anything of it.

When it was clear that Merlin wasn’t going to be moving on his own any time soon, Arthur was standing up and striding towards him.

“What—” Merlin had begun to protest, but Arthur ignored it as he grabbed Merlin himself, moving him to stand by the fire, like he was being a difficult child. “You can’t even follow the simplest of instructions, can you?” he observed softly when Merlin went along with him easily. Only Arthur hadn’t been paying attention to that, but to Merlin’s delicate calloused hands that were even sorer up close, picking them up in his before he could stop himself, his heart melting at the state of them.

“Gods, Merlin,” he whispered. “Have you been trying to scrub the castle floors with your bare hands?”

Merlin was about to say something, Arthur could almost feel the words preparing to leave his mouth any moment, his hands tensing in Arthur’s, but instead went completely still as Arthur brought the red knuckles of his right hand up to his lips and gave them a gentle kiss.

Merlin fell silent immediatly.

Arthur didn’t break the silence. He held Merlin’s hands in his and looked down at them as they were warmed by both the heat from the fire and Arthur’s own hands. He hesitated to meet Merlin’s gaze, feeling like he should take it back, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Merlin’s hands had been cold and red and wrong again and Arthur had vowed to keep him safe from hurt that one awful day in the woods. This was only him keeping his promise, he supposed.

Still, he was taken aback by the intimacy of it all, and when he finally dared to look at Merlin again, Arthur was surprised to find his face had turned the same shade of red his knuckles had been earlier and that his lovely blue eyes weren't shocked or angry, only holding the deepest fondness Arthur had ever seen directed at him before. Arthur didn’t think he deserved a fraction of the tenderness he saw there as they reflected the flames that danced in the fire beside them. He wondered if Merlin knew the meaning of the gesture. He wondered if Merlin knew the meaning of what Arthur had just done. 

Arthur wondered if Merlin knew that in court etiquette, a person should only kiss another person’s hands if they were of the same social status. Or higher. 

Arthur looked into his friend’s eyes and realized he was truly and completely in over his head in the deepest waters he had ever dared to tread. 

And that he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to find his way out again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading. I would appreciate hearing your thoughts on this one :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta'd by the most lovely [Saltedkiss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saltedkiss/pseuds/Saltedkiss) ( [shut-up-merlin](https://shut-up-merlin.tumblr.com/) on tumblr). I'm beyond grateful for her help, encouragement, and patience. This story wouldn't be half what it is weren’t for the tremendous time and effort that she so generously poured into it. Seriously, if it wasn’t for her, every other sentence would’ve had the word “moment” in it, the plot would be almost incomprehensible, and a lot of my most favorite scenes wouldn’t have happened the way they did, just to name a few. 
> 
> ...
> 
> “ —and so I perish softly.” is a quote by Emily Dickinson.
> 
> ...
> 
> Loving each other began this way: threading loneliness into loneliness  
> patiently, our hands trembling and precise.
> 
> \- Yehuda Amichai

_—and so I perish softly._

Arthur held the piece of paper with a trembling hand and felt his entire being shift as he read the words on it.

He hadn’t meant to open the book, hadn’t meant to touch Merlin’s book that’s been sitting on his desk for almost two weeks now. It was a book taken out of the castle’s library, but he had taken to calling it Merlin’s book ever since Merlin had forgotten it there one afternoon and never took it back. Arthur secretly liked seeing it there, if anything, it served as evidence that those lazy days had happened and weren’t a figment of Arthur’s imagination, conjured up in some desperate attempt to make him deal with whatever he had been feeling. That Merlin had in fact sat with him for hours, affection real and open in his eyes as he read to him. Those hours during which Arthur had behaved like an oblivious overprotective idiot, because it was all too clear in his mind now, what he had been trying to do, and why. How could it not when he's spent days analyzing every moment and what he could’ve done to make them trigger such change in Merlin.

Because other than that evidence, it all felt like it had never happened. Even whatever had happened between them that cold afternoon a couple of weeks earlier, when Arthur apparently couldn’t take being denied touching Merlin any longer and destroyed whatever kind of friendship they had had on a whim. Because that had to be the reason Merlin never mentioned that day ever again, and acted like it had never happened, like Arthur hadn’t bared his soul to him in that moment and had felt some sort of reciprocation in Merlin’s eyes. Arthur had gotten to the point where he convinced himself that he had imagined that, that he was so delirious with the idea of acceptance and reciprocation from Merlin that he fooled himself into seeing it.

Now, Merlin’s book laid forgotten on the floor of Arthur’s room, right next to his bed where he stood, holding a paper with five simple words copied from the book which the paper had been placed within. He stared at it until the shape of the letters stopped holding any meaning. He felt as if he had left his body and was now hovering above the ground, watching himself reading the words written in Merlin’s handwriting. The same words he had read to Arthur all those days ago from a poem in one of his stories. Arthur absently remembered reading the same line earlier that day to himself just to remember the soft words spoken in Merlin’s beautiful voice.

Arthur’s day had been a long, busy one, filled with reports and shouted orders by his father, when he had spotted the book where Merlin’s left it and his world had zeroed on it. Merlin, who had taken to doing his chores around Arthur’s chambers as silently as possible, after Arthur’s nagged him enough about his silence the first few days after the incident, as Arthur’s started to call his moment of impulsiveness. Merlin had started rambling on about everything and nothing, about being extra busy with Gaius as they dealt with some kind of new illness sweeping Camelot’s farmlands. Arthur let it go and told Merlin to take all the time he needed, which should've been an alarming sign to how guilty he was feeling, but to which Merlin had paid no mind. For that week and pretty much most of this one, Arthur had been seeing less of him around the castle with each passing day. If Arthur hadn’t been so busy reporting back to his father about the disease, he would've slowly lost his mind over it, more so than he was already, that was.

In all truthfulness, Arthur had been hoping for his stupid step out of line to be forgotten by the time Gaius managed to deal with the disease, but instead found himself staring at Merlin’s book for the better part of the afternoon, going back to the poem the line was taken out of and staring at it. He remembered that afternoon Merlin read him that story. He specifically remembered the soft winter light that had momentarily broken through thick clouds and had shone on Merlin’s raven hair as he lifted his eyes up and looked at Arthur, reading that line in the silence of the room and pausing. Arthur recalled his heart racing as if Merlin had spoken that line to him, and how he had almost shivered, wanting to do more than just look, wanting to touch, to be touched, to perish softly not by a casual brush, but by the softness of a hand that had the full intent of touching him back, gently and attentively. He had been desperate for it. He could almost feel the ghost of it before Merlin had glanced down and went on with his poem. Arthur later wondered if he had imagined that loaded pause. He had wondered, as he absentmindedly traced the words with his finger and then drew a line under them, how much of whatever he saw in Merlin was a product of his mind craving affection after all was.

Now, the same line was written in Merlin’s handwriting, addressed to him, lay in his palm, and Arthur felt so dizzy by it he could hardly breathe. He didn’t know when Merlin had opened the book and seen the words, but he must’ve, for Arthur found it by his bed, the piece of paper sticking out, calling for Arthur to read it.

_—and so I perish softly._

He needed to find Merlin.

…

The castle felt almost ethereal as Arthur made his way through it, giddy and barely holding himself back from smiling like a loon.

He felt as if he'd gone mad, sneaking in in the dead of the night to his servant’s quarters like a foolish lover, who couldn’t wait till morning. He felt lightheaded at the idea. It only came to him as an afterthought how much like a boy he was acting, like the infatuated lovesick boy he had never allowed himself to be ever before. Arthur's footsteps echoed through the empty corridors, the bounce in his step clear for anyone to hear. That is, if anyone had been around to hear it. He needed to find Merlin to see if his words of affection were written in earnest.

All gods above, he must've gone completely out of his mind.

Arthur smiled to himself at his last thought as he crossed another deserted hallway. It was then that he heard a sharp scream, slicing through the still night around him like a knife.

Arthur froze on the spot, the dreamy smile gone when his lips pressed together in a thin line. He was suddenly aware that he was unarmed, walking through the castle in his sleeping breeches and a tunic he threw on in haste. He was also aware that there were no warning bells ringing and so he must've been the only one aware of any disturbance. He cursed softly as he thought of having to wait until he checked what happened before he'd go find Merlin. He shook his head and tried to think logically. He was nearly by the courtyard, but the scream had come from the opposite direction, from the direction of the castles’ gardens. Arthur hurriedly strode towards them after a mournful look towards the way to Gaius’s chambers.

The night was perfectly still as Arthur stepped into the garden. He stopped and looked. There was nothing amiss under the moonlight that shone over bushes and trees carrying small buds. He stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, the moon getting occasionally obscured by clouds casting the garden in bitch darkness every few moments, but not for long. Still, he couldn’t see anything no matter how carefully he looked, although his instincts told him something was wrong almost immediately. He closed his eyes and tried to listen carefully. Nothing for a few long moments except for the light breeze moving a few leaves on Morgana’s rose bushes a little to his right.

Just a moment after Arthur had convinced himself he had imagined whatever scream he'd heard, faintly spoken words drifted towards him through the darkness of the night from his right, a little further into the garden. Arthur didn’t hesitate to follow the path starting there. The spring air still held winter’s chill as it brushed the skin under his tunic, making the hair on his arms stand and sending a shiver down his spine. He fleetingly thought about retreating, going to find someone or get a weapon of some kind, but his curiosity got the best of him and he kept walking, and his stubborn determination urging him to find out what was happening. He forced himself to keep his steps quiet and light so he wouldn’t be discovered... Until the sounds had stopped once more.

Just when Arthur was about to turn around, managing to convince himself that he’d imagined the sound, a new wave of whispers reached him and pulled him further into the garden.

Finally, Arthur reached a clearing between the trees where he was positive the whispers was coming from. Arthur kept his back to the bush he was standing by, carefully craning his neck so he could see without being discovered. What he saw however, rooted him to the spot.

There was a dark figure cast in shadows from the obscured moonlight, kneeling on the ground, hands pressed down in front of them while thick twisting robes of light seemed to emit from their hands going directly into the ground beneath them.

There was muttering too that would grow into hushed spoken unintelligible words at times, broken by what sounded like faint shrieks of pain that echoed the scream Arthur had heard earlier. He didn’t need to come closer to know they were words of sorcery, yet what had stopped him in his tracks, was the recognition that cut through hit him like a sword to the gut. Because once the moonlight had emerged from between thick clouds, it illuminated the figure Arthur was seeing, and there, on the ground, eyes looking upwards towards the sky, their ocean blue turning into distinctive molten gold, hands laced with the robes of magic coming from within him and seeping deep into the earth, was Merlin.

Merlin couldn’t see him, consumed by the magic, his raven hair shining silver in the moonlight like white stone. Arthur stood still as death. He heard a faint thud near his feet; the torch stick he had caught on his way in and had been holding had fallen from his trembling hands. He was thankful for the bush supporting him up, because he wasn’t sure he could’ve been able to keep standing, wasn’t for something physical behind him. He couldn’t think. All he could see was Merlin’s face twisted in pain as the shrieks seemed to be pulled from somewhere deep inside him now. They were getting louder and Arthur knew they were bound to alert someone soon. Arthur’s first instinct was to surge forward, hold Merlin and pull him away from the robes of magic that seemed to grow thicker, anchoring Merlin deeper into the earth by the second, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t come closer. He closed his eyes and opened them multiple times, wishing for everything to be gone when he would open them again, this wasn’t a dream or his imagination.

It was Merlin, doing magic in the middle of the night in the castle’s bloody garden.

Through the muddled haze of his confusion, Arthur barely registered what happened next. There were footsteps and curtly shouted orders, a flash of red when a knight passed by, and there were the collective gasps from the party as one by one they recognized the person withering in pain on the ground. When their outbursts of surprise quieted down, the guards seemed to remember their orders. One by one they approached the pained figure on the ground, seizing Merlin’s now limb form between them.

Merlin seemed completely unaware of the commotion around him at all, and only gave the vague indication that there was someone pulling him off the ground when the magical robes of light were disturbed by the motion. Arthur’s hand was already reaching over to the ghost of a sword to his side, coming back disappointingly empty, before the idea that he meant to attack his own guards and knight gave him pause.

The knight— Sir Kay, Arthur noted as he saw him come closer towards Merlin, seemed to hesitate only for a moment before he drew himself back, telling the guards to follow him.

 _Fight them,_ Arthur found himself almost shouting at Merlin, _you still have your magic, fight them off and run._

But Arthur’s voice wouldn’t come and Merlin didn’t move. Neither did Arthur, still engulfed by the bush’s prickly branches he’d backed away into before. It seemed as if hours had passed since then, when in reality it must have been mere minutes. 

More of that fickle time passed Arthur by. Several minutes, which, again, felt like hours, after Merlin was taken away, Arthur finally found the will to move his legs again and run to the throne room without a second thought.

…

Everything that happened next felt like a dizzying, unshakable nightmare.

They had all gathered in the throne room. Arthur stood to his father’s right, wishing for the first time since he was a child to be able to run away and hide. He tried to keep his face perfectly blank, tried to keep his arms crossed over his chest, if only to hide his trembling hands, but had a feeling that if all eyes of the recently awoken people in the room weren’t already trained on Merlin, they would’ve seen through him immediately. But none of them were turned to Arthur. This included the pair of ocean eyes that mattered to him most. 

Merlin hadn’t looked at him once since Arthur had arrived.

Arthur tried not to think past this moment there, tried not to let his thoughts run over each other as they desperately wanted to, tried not to think of whose chambers he had been headed to before— _no_ , he firmly told himself shaking his thoughts away mentally. _Not now_. If he thought about it now, he knew his blank stare would falter. He would crumble and fall. His insides would shatter until he was nothing but the remains of a crushed marble statue in pieces near Merlin’s kneeling figure.

Arthur tried to tune his senses in, to listen to what was being said. A shiver ran through Arthur’s spine when his father’s sharp voice rang through the throne room. He looked at Merlin, whose features had gone white as a sheet as he struggled to keep himself upright. 

“You were the one to cast the spell that brought the disease upon our lands?” Uther’s voice bellowed through the silent throne room. He must’ve been addressing Merlin for a while, because Arthur had clearly missed the barely contained anger his father’s voice would acquire on its way to fully blown anger. The sentence was framed as a question, but Arthur had no doubt in his mind that his father had already passed sentence and punishment and that there was no force on earth that was to change his mind. Even if Arthur begged, even if he pleaded for days, because, dear gods above, _he couldn’t stand here and watch_ —

Merlin drew himself up at that seeming to grow taller while still on his knees, stopping Arthur’s panicked thoughts in their tracks with the utter defiance and open hate that shone in him. Arthur stepped back, stunned to see such a look in Merlin’s kind eyes that, at Arthur’s worst, had only looked upon him with mild disdain.

“I was trying to save it,” Merlin hissed, his voice hoarse. It sliced through Arthur who tried not to flinch visibly. Merlin sounded like he was the one on the throne, passing sentence not kneeling on the ground facing judgment.

“You’re a liar and a sorcerer,” Uther countered, passing sentence like he was exchanging pleasantries with a courtier. “Only by ridding this land of your evil would it be saved.”

Merlin shook his head and for a moment appeared to be consumed by exhaustion once more, Arthur almost moved towards him. _Almost_. Merlin, however, didn’t look down, he gathered himself again and kept his steady eyes on Uther as if he was the foulest thing Merlin’s ever got to see. “You're blinded by your hatred and stupidity,” Merlin spat back. “I was trying to save this land as I've done a thousand times before, only by killing me will you condemn your land to be destroyed, to watch your people starve.”

“More lies won’t save you, Sorcerer. You’ll be executed at dawn,” Uther’s voice didn’t waver or hesitate as he passed his sentence.

Arthur felt like all air was pushed out of his chest as the final words rang in the semi-empty room around him.

For the next several moments, Arthur couldn’t grasp a word that was being said around him. _Merlin was still not looking at him._ He didn’t seem shocked or afraid, only more defiant as his eyes fell close, all his energy consumed by his outburst.

_Look at me, damn it all._

Arthur struggled with his legs, not knowing if it was to keep standing or to stop them from running to Merlin. He wanted to hold him, take him away from all this madness where the kindest heart he's ever known had been just accused of darkness and sorcery, his father and every Camelot guard and knight be damned to hell and back.

Eventually, Arthur didn’t do anything. His hands remained limb to his sides, his legs just as useless. Only after the room was completely emptied from everyone save Uther and Gaius, did he find it in himself to start paying attention to what was being said around him. He focused on the voices in the empty throne room. Focused on the cold stone wall behind his back. Arthur needed to hold onto that because the alternative was for him to collapse and break where he stood which wasn’t a viable option.

“—Sire, I can only think of this way,” Gaius was saying and Arthur turned his attention to him.

Arthur had to clear his voice before he asked, “What way are you talking about?”

Gaius gave Uther one last look before turning to Arthur. “I managed to find out how the disease is spreading. It's an ancient magical malady. It grows through the earth, feeding on the life within it, on sources of power. It's not caused by magic, but its existence depends on it.”

“And that tells you how to stop it?” Uther asked, impatiently.

“We can if we manage to counter it with something containing enormous amounts of power. The disease will try to consume it, but won’t be able to hold too much power at once. It’ll destroy it.”

“The boy,” Uther said, cutting Gaius off, who arched a brow at him. “He has magical power, we can use him as a source for that power you need.”

“Sire—” Gaius gasped.

Uther ignored him. “Fire will release his power and the disease can consume it.”

Arthur’s blood turned to ice in his veins.

“Sire—” Gaius started again but was cut off by Uther’s firm hand wave.

Uther turned to Arthur before he ordered, “Prepare for the boy to be burnt at the stake at dawn.”

Gaius fell silent and Arthur stood by as he watched his father leave the room like he hadn’t just ordered Arthur’s life away.

…

Arthur stood by the hearth in his chambers, staring at the words written on the crumbled paper in his palm, and fought not to break down.

He could hardly recall his walk up to his chambers, staring as the embers burned out before him. Had it been only hours since Merlin had lit it earlier that night? It felt like years had passed since then, since Arthur had been sitting behind his desk, pretending to read while stealing glances Merlin’s way as he moved about the room.

Arthur closed his eyes at that last thought. His breaths kept coming faster. He ended up sitting by the chair facing the hearth with his head between his legs, the paper crumbled in his fist. He felt lost, completely and utterly lost and alone. The world swayed before his eyes, so he closed them again in a desperate attempt to make the vertigo subside. To empty his mind so he could think. Had he really been standing here only hours ago with his heart beating with something like hope? How could he have been so foolish?

For the second time that night, Arthur felt like a boy if not for another completely different reason. The last time he's ever felt so small and completely helpless was when he was seven and his father had made him watch the execution of a sorcerer for the first time in his life. Arthur had hid in his nursemaid’s skirts, Helena, the whole while. It didn’t shield him from the screams, or the crackling of the fire, the heat of it reaching him high up on the castle’s balcony.

Uther had come to see him later that evening and had seen Arthur in Helena’s arms, not crying anymore, but frightened beyond his seven years, clinging to her and trying to erase the image of the burning man out of his mind, for even though he hadn’t seen it, his imagination filled in the blanks well. It was useless, every time Arthur closed his eyes, he could see the man engulfed in flames, could hear the screams and smell the burnt flesh. He couldn’t understand how whatever that man’s done, whatever evil was in his heart, would justify the torture of death in such a monstrous way.

Uther had sat Arthur down and had explained how that was the only way sorcerers should be dealt with, that if they weren’t punished the worst way possible, they would see them all dead, would see Camelot destroyed and burnt to the ground. Arthur remembered wishing that his father would stop talking about it. He didn’t want to hear why it was happening, all he had wanted was for the images to leave him be.

They didn’t. For weeks he'd wake up gasping from nightmares of burnt faces and agonized screams.

Arthur never saw Helena again after that day.

Oh, dear gods above, would he have to watch? Would his father make him watch _Merlin_ — he felt nauseated and dizzy at the idea, at the unthinkable playing in his mind’s eye. He wondered if Merlin's face would haunt his dreams, would haunt his waking hours until he went mad. He felt like he was going mad that instant. Merlin lied to him, Merlin betrayed his trust, and Merlin had magic and that meant he had to die with fire as punishment and as an offering.

Arthur wondered how his heart could still cling to the one tender thing he's ever got to hold in his hands even as it burned him.

…

Morgana was bleary eyed when she had found him, her state of distraught mirroring Arthur's.

She wasn’t in her rooms and Arthur couldn’t stay in his. He had kept climbing up through the castle until he reached one of the higher ramparts, and had been gazing up at the night sky when he saw her approach.

It was cold, colder than it ought to be for a spring night. Arthur pretended the cool breeze was the reason he had his arms around himself. He held his jacket securely around him, without looking at his hands. His shaking and useless hands. As he stood there, arms wrapped around himself, he wondered if, at some point, the sense of abandonment would fade if only he managed to warm himself up. As of yet, it hadn’t. Arthur doubted Morgana’s presence would change that. The cold didn’t seem to faze Morgana one bit as she came to stand beside him in her too thin dress, her long black hair flying in the breeze. She held onto the stone ridge before her as she looked out beyond the castle walls with him.

“Arthur,” she said, her voice easily carried through the night.. She seemed unsure of what to say next.

“Did you know?” he asked before she could say anything else. He didn’t look at her, but he knew she understood.

“No, I didn’t,” she answered in a soft exhausted way, Morgana shook her head and looked at her hands, and somehow Arthur was sure she was telling the truth.

Arthur closed his eyes and counted his breaths in his head in an attempt to exert some kind of control over himself. It wouldn’t do for him to break down, not in front of Morgana at least.

“Uther is going to execute him,” Morgana said as a matter of factly, as though Arthur didn’t know.

“No,” Arthur croaked. “Uther is going to burn him at the stake as an offering to stop the disease tearing through the land.”

He could feel Morgana’s gasp before he could hear it.

“What are you going to do?!” Morgana sounded horrified but her words held so much conviction in him that it terrified him.

Arthur fought the urge to laugh. “What am I going to do?” 

“You can't let them give Merlin as an offering like an animal! You have to do something! Uther is—”

Arthur lifted his hand to silence her from saying more, not that her arguments treading on treason had ever stopped Morgana before. “Morgana,” he warned.

Morgana, of course, being herself, didn’t only scoff, but pointed her index accusingly at him. “Don’t tell me you're suddenly in full agreement with your father’s policies, because if you are, you're really not the man I thought you were, Arthur Pendragon.” 

Arthur turned to face her now.

“Merlin is a sorcerer,” he said out loud for the first time that night. It didn’t make the sting of truth hurt any less, but it felt good to say. “Do you have _the slightest idea_ what that means? Do you understand what he's done? He lied to all of us for years. He lied to _me_ —”

It was only after Arthur’s voice broke on that last word that he found himself unable to continue. He clenched his fists at his sides and took a breath, trying not to blink, because he was horrified to feel tears stinging in his eyes. He had gone mad, truly mad.

Morgana looked down from his eyes. He could see her open her mouth and snap it shut repeatedly as if she was trying to find a way to say whatever she had to say.

“My mother had magic,” Morgana finally spoke slowly, to her feet.

Arthur blinked and forgot what he had meant to say. Morgana never spoke of her mother. He's always assumed she never knew her, just like he never knew his.

Morgana looked at him now, her eyes defiant, her jaw set, challenging him before she even uttered another word. “Uther never told you?” She arched a brow at him.

Arthur only managed to stare at her.

Morgana nodded and looked away. “Uther had an affair with her. I heard him say it to Gaius. He told him I was his daughter.” she told him evenly and slowly. “My mother gave me her magic.”

For the second time that night, Arthur felt his world flip on its axis.

Gaius and Uther both knew and have never spoken of it. Morgana was his sister by blood and had been born with magic. Uther’s _affairs_ have never been a secret around the castle. Arthur had known of them since he was a boy, and while he had no doubt the odd bastard was carefully hidden by marriages oftentimes, this ran much deeper than all of that. The way Uther had always cared for Morgana as a daughter. Arthur had no doubt in his mind it would all crumble down if he had the slightest suspension of Morgana’s magic. 

“If you think Merlin deserves to be punished for being who he is,” Morgana said into his thoughts, “then you better start with me first. Or better yet, run me through right now and get it over with. Uther won’t make anything of you killing your witch of a sister and at least then your place on the throne will be secure.”

Morgana spat her last words in his face, but she might as well have slapped him. Arthur moved back from her on instinct, noticing that despite how she was trying to look menacing, there was shining moisture in her eyes. He glanced down from them only to see her hands shaking. _She was scared._ It came like a blow when he realized she was scared of _him_ . Morgana who never cried, Morgana, who was the closest thing he’s ever had to a sister— no, _was_ his sister, thought that he could ever think of harming her, for any reason.

Uther had really outdone himself this time.

“Too horrified to speak, dear brother?” Morgana’s voice sliced through the silence between them, the cool breeze around them stilling momentarily as if mimicking Arthur’s thoughts. Morgana’s voice quivered on those final two words, but to anyone who didn’t know her, they could surely only hear the venom she tried to inject into them. They wouldn’t notice the shakiness of her hands, the fear in her eyes before they hardened again.

And just like that, Arthur knew what to do, it was as if Morgana’s words refocused his world again, sobered his thoughts.

“It doesn’t change anything,” Arthur said, careful to keep his voice even. He watched as something like shock flickered in Morgana’s eyes. He knew whatever he was going to say now would define their entire relationship from then on. “The magic doesn’t change who you are to me. Nothing ever will. You have always been a sister to me and to have that confirmed by blood makes you only more precious to me, Morgana.”

Arthur never thought he'd ever live to see the day Morgana would look so wrong-footed because of him, her eyes widened, stuttering on her next few words before she formed a full sentence. “But I have magic, just like Merlin. I’m older than you. I can—”

Arthur shook his head at her feeble objections and placed his hands on her shoulders now that he knew she wouldn’t push him away. “You’ve just given me something dearer to me than anything I could have ever wished for,” he said, ignoring the pain flaring in his chest upon the mention of Merlin again. Merlin— it wasn’t about that. It was never about the magic with Merlin, he could see that now, but that wasn’t what Morgana needed to hear from him now. “I have more family now, you know, that’s all.”

Morgana didn’t say anything to that, just looked at him, slack-jawed and wide eyed.

“I would never let anyone harm you for being who you are, Morgana, least of all me.”

Morgana stared at him for a moment in open shock still, but eventually looked away from him. Arthur pretended to look away as she discreetly wiped at her eyes. He had tears in his, too, but he only sniffed them away.

“What are you doing, Arthur?” Morgana finally asked softly. Arthur held on to the warm affection he heard in her voice as he turned to look beyond the castle walls again, resting his hands on the stone ledge before him.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, letting the breeze carry his words away.

Morgana sighed into the night. “If you let them kill him, you'll never forgive yourself.”

 _Kill him?_ Arthur clenched his hands resting on the cold stone into fists and watched his knuckles turn white in the moonlight. He wanted to pull at his hair and scream like a madman. The image of flames coming near Merlin sent pain through Arthur’s entire body as if he was the one on fire.

In the still of the night Arthur vowed to himself that he'd die before he'd let Merlin near a pyre.

Arthur was already turning away when Morgana grabbed his wrist and stopped him, the sympathy in her eyes clear in the dim light made him shiver. “You should come with me,” she said and he was nodding before he cared to ask what she was even talking about.

…

The noise that flooded the corridor when Morgana opened Gaius’s chambers doors made Arthur hesitate slightly before following her in, but it was what he saw inside that stopped him at the doorstep.

The room was covered in chaos. Books were pulled down from every shelf and were piled on every free surface, parchments were opened and stacked by the books. For one dreadful moment, Arthur wondered if his father had Gaius’s chambers searched for more evidence on Merlin. It was the sight of Gwen and Gaius sitting on opposite ends of one of the tables that made him rethink that. They both had their entire concentration fixed on whatever they were reading, neither of them noticing Morgana nor Arthur coming in.

Morgana didn’t give Arthur a second thought as she went over to Gwen to lean over her and squeeze her shoulders affectionately. Gwen looked up and smiled at her in gratitude with a look that was definitely not meant for Arthur to observe, so he averted his eyes quickly. It was then that Gwen must've seen him standing by the door.

“What are you doing?” Arthur asked when both Gwen and Morgana looked his way.

Gwen pursed her lips before looking from Morgana to him. Morgana shrugged and Gwen stood up, grabbing a few books from a nearby table as she answered, “We’re trying to find a magical object containing enough magical power to be released and harnessed to destroy this disease so we could save Merlin’s life. Sire.” She said all that in one breath, adding the _sire_ so much as an afterthought that it reminded Arthur of Merlin. Arthur fought not to smile fondly at the idea of what Merlin could’ve told her during all the time the two of them spent together. Dear merciful gods, he must've lost his mind completely for finding the idea of Merlin’s insolent words about him endearing in any form. He tried to concentrate on the insanity Gwen had just told him, but he was still lost.

Gwen moved to put her books away with a casual “there’s nothing in these either, Gaius,” before she gave Arthur another look. She must've seen something in his face because she turned to look over at Morgana. “I thought you were going to tell him.”

“I thought it'd be easier if we just showed him.”

Gwen was clearly about to say something but Arthur stopped her when he started to catch up. “How’s stopping the disease going to save Merlin’s life?”

“If we manage to stop it, we can show Uther that Merlin wasn’t the cause of any of this,” Morgana answered. “It was Gwen’s idea.” She smiled proudly at Gwen at that. 

Arthur needed another moment to absorb the utter madness they were suggesting.

“No.” The word left Arthur’s mouth before he could stop it. This was the single most stupid idea he had ever heard.

Gwen opened her mouth, her chin already raised in defiance, but it was Morgana who spoke first, “Arthur—”

“No.” Arthur repeated firmly. “Merlin was caught doing magic red handed. Father will never go back on his sentence. We need to get him out of Camelot _now_.”

“Merlin won’t go.” It was Gaius who spoke, taking his glasses off and closing his book before he looked back at Arthur.

Arthur looked to Morgana then to Gwen, just in time to see them exchange a guilty look, before he looked back at Gaius. Arthur wanted to argue, wanted to say that he didn’t give a damn what Merlin wanted. They’d tie him up and get him to leave to some druid camp by force, if necessary. He was stopped from voicing any of his thoughts by the resigned sadness he saw in Gaius’s usually impenetrable eyes. It suddenly hit Arthur who they were talking about now. Merlin wasn’t an ordinary man who needed rescuing. The power Arthur saw him release in the gardens, it wasn’t normal. Arthur didn’t know much about sorcery, but he knew enough to recognize raw power when he saw it, and that was great power if he’s ever seen any. If that disease fed on such power and still hadn’t managed to drain Merlin completely, Arthur could only imagine the kind of power that was. No, Merlin could crush the roof of the entire castle over their heads, if he wanted. The time he would spend held in the dungeons until morning would only help him restore more of it. It was that Merlin didn’t _want_ to go. Merlin wanted to stay and face execution and Arthur felt like setting the whole castle on fire before he’d let that self-sacrificing idiot do it.

“Was that what Merlin was trying to do?” Arthur forced himself to ask through a tight throat. “Was he trying to drain himself of his magic to stop the bloody disease?” he explained when they all gave him a confused look.

“No.” Gaius shook his head from where he still sat. He put his glasses back on and picked up a book from in front of him before walking to Arthur. Gaius held the book up, the words on the pages he dangled in front of Arthur’s face nothing but a blur Arthur didn’t bother focusing on. “He was trying to use this spell.” Gaius pointed at a sentence with his index. “It's supposed to harness power from living sources nearby and focus it. I suppose he just didn’t realize the extent of it.”

Arthur shuddered. If that was true, Merlin had almost killed himself tonight to save them all. If his screams hadn’t alerted Arthur, if they hadn’t alerted the guards…

“It's our only chance. _His_ only chance,” Gwen spoke softly, interrupting Arthur’s spiraling thoughts. He realized she was standing beside him when she placed her hand on his shoulder lightly. Arthur’s first instinct was to shake it off, but let it steady him instead. “If we stop this, maybe the King will reconsider." 

Arthur looked from her to the book Gaius still had open in his arms. _Yes, because father has always been interested in rational thought,_ he wanted to say, but he knew they had a point. Gwen had been declared innocent from the charge of witchcraft before for the same reason.

“Fine,” Arthur gritted out. “What’s the plan?”

Morgana smiled at him. “We were thinking of getting into the vaults first, with your help of course.”

…

The plan turned out to be pretty simple, once Arthur considered every alternative path they could have chosen instead. He even tried to propose his idea of drugging Merlin and taking him by force away from Camelot, which was met with respectful skepticism from Gaius and a not so respectful scoff from Morgana with a mocking _good luck with that_ , before Arthur stopped talking all together.

What Arthur hadn’t anticipated, however, was how finding Merlin in a smelly prison cell would make him lose the ability to do something as simple as remember how to talk. Getting in there had been simple enough. He had told the guards he needed to speak with the prisoner alone and so they led him to Merlin’s cell and left him there. A thousand questions fought to leave Arthur’s mouth, a thousand speeches he had been rehearsing in his head all night fought to follow, but Arthur knew it wasn’t time or place to talk about anything but the situation at hand. Everything else could wait. He wasn’t here to talk anyway. He was here to get Merlin out and he needed to do it quickly.

Arthur had been the obvious choice for the task. No one else would have been allowed in there. It had been the practical thing to do. Nevertheless, all those reasons, those very practical and logical reasons, seemed long gone the moment Merlin jumped up once Arthur heard the cell door click shut behind him. Arthur stepped forward into the darkness. It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the dim light that fell into the small cell from the torch lit hallway behind him. When they finally did, Arthur pretended he didn’t notice the way Merlin moved away from him or the ill-concealed fear in Merlin’s tired eyes. Fear that was concealed by the same defiance Arthur had seen in the throne room, but it was fear alright. It was the same look he’s seen in Morgana’s eyes earlier that evening. If it had unsettled him back then to see Morgana afraid of him, it made Arthur’s entire body ache now. Merlin’s fear hung so heavy in the tiny cell, it felt as if the air in Arthur’s lungs was being slowly replaced by it. Arthur clenched his fist to keep himself from reaching over to Merlin in an attempt to comfort him. He firmly reminded himself that they didn’t have time to waste.

“We’re getting you out of here,” Arthur burst out.

“What?” Merlin gasped, quick to recover from his shock. He stepped further away from Arthur. “I told them I'm _not_ going anywhere. There’s another way out of this. I know there is—”

Arthur rolled his eyes, magic or not, it was clear that he would never see the day Merlin would do what he was told. “I’m not asking you to leave Camelot. We have a plan. I don’t have time to explain it, but we have to move _now_ ,” Arthur hissed his last sentence, looking behind him because Merlin’s voice hadn’t been exactly quiet, and he knew Morgana would kill him herself if he blew her and Gwen’s plan right then.

Merlin lent away from him now that he backed himself against the wall of the cell. He was shaking his head stubbornly, his lips pressed in a thin line.

Merlin wasn’t going to come with him anywhere in this state. Arthur took a breath and took one step closer, extending his open palm to Merlin. 

“Do you trust me?”

“I trust you with my life.” Merlin's ready answer made Arthur's heart swell at the sincerity they held.

“Then trust me on this,” he asked, thrusting his hand forward between them once more.

Merlin stepped closer and took Arthur’s hand in his. “What do you need me to do?”

Arthur smiled before he told Merlin everything Gwen said they should do while in the cells.

…

The moon hung low on the hills near the castle.

Arthur finally allowed himself a breath as they reached the clearing Merlin suggested and tied their horses to a tree nearby. Arthur wondered how and why Merlin knew of such a place, although thinking of the nature of the illegal activities he would need such a place for made him hesitant to ask. Arthur had to admit though, if he was to trick himself into not thinking about what they were doing, he'd think the place was very peaceful. He had a very strange thought of it being the perfect place to go with Merlin to talk, had the night gone differently from the nightmare Arthur found himself trapped in instead. He shook his head at his thoughts and turned away from the castle. Merlin had knelt down on the ground a little away from where Arthur stood. Puzzled, Arthur came closer. Upon closer inspection, he could see Merlin holding a handful of dark red soil in his hand, muttering something with his eyes closed.

Arthur was reaching over and nudging Merlin’s shoulder before he could stop himself. “What are you doing?” 

Merlin jumped up and the soil fell from his fingers. He looked over at Arthur just in time for Arthur to see the dancing magic in his eyes fade away, distracting Arthur from the panic he felt at the thought of Merlin using his magic to save Camelot again washing over him. 

“I was trying to see if the disease has yet reached these lands,” Merlin answered, barely refraining from letting the familiar annoyance at Arthur from showing in his voice. It was embarrassing how calming it was for Arthur to hear it. 

“Has it?” Arthur asked.

“Yes, it has,” he said, getting up and adding, more as an afterthought, “just for future reference for next time, maybe don’t sneak on me while I’m doing magic?”

Arthur had to blink a few times at the strange urge to laugh that came over him. Exhaustion and sleep deprivation must've been getting to him. No one in their right mind would have found it humorous that only hours ago, he had had no idea that Merlin even knew the first thing about magic and now he was talking to Arthur about it like it was a daily occurrence to them, not the reason Merlin was going to be burnt at the stake soon. On the course of one night, Arthur had gone from being too infatuated to think straight to being terrified out of his mind to now wanting to tie Merlin down to a horse and get him to leave Camelot by force. Now Merlin was teaching him what to do when Merlin was performing magic. It was so absurd. The whole of it. Upon that last thought, Arthur felt bouts of hysterical laughter take over that he almost doubled over by the force of it. 

When Arthur straightened up again, Merlin was staring at him like he would when he would think Arthur had bashed his head too strongly on the training field and was in need of a physician’s attention.

“Have I hit you with my magic?” Merlin asked hesitantly when Arthur’s laughter died out, leaving him grinning with tears in his eyes. Honestly, only Merlin. Although the concern on Merlin’s face almost sent him into hysterics again, he only smiled. 

Merlin was still babbling. “I mean it has never done that before, but you touched me when I was still doing it and I am still a little tired—”

“Merlin,” Arthur placed a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and watched as he stilled completely. “I’m alright.”

Merlin gave him a skeptical look at that and Arthur genuinely smiled for the first time that night since he'd seen Merlin’s written words to him a lifetime ago. “You’re a wonder, Merlin, you know that?”

Merlin smiled uncertainly, still looking like he didn’t totally buy Arthur’s answer that he was alright. “You told me that once.”

“I remember,” Arthur answered and let the moment stretch between them until Merlin moved away first, sitting down.

Arthur sat down too and tried not to feel too hurt at how Merlin moved away from him.

“Morgana will be here shortly,” Arthur said, just to fill the silence. “You're sure you can harness the magic in the crystal of Neahtid in time?” the _in your state_ went unsaid, but Arthur knew that Merlin heard it.

Arthur almost missed the way Merlin winced beside him. “I have to," he said, and left it at that.

They both watched the castle silently while Arthur tried not to think of the worse scenario possible, of all the things that could go so easily wrong; from Morgana not being able to get into the vaults unnoticed to get the crystal of Neahtid that they had agreed to use as a source for the magic Merlin intended to harness, to Merlin’s absence being noticed by some guard who happened to pass by his cell for some reason. Arthur couldn’t afford to have these thoughts. Instead, he tried to recall all the things he had planned on telling Merlin earlier, all the speeches he had written in his mind, but nothing came to him. He thought back to his earlier thoughts of Merlin probably being able to kill them all with a look, and thought about how it was Merlin’s choice not to leave.

“I can hear you thinking,” Merlin said from beside him, startling Arthur.

“Wait, really?" 

"No." Merlin's lips turn upwards into a sly smirk. “Although your startled look sort of makes me wish I could."

“Oh. Oh. Good,” Arthur answered, the last of his laughter leaving him completely at the thought of Merlin hearing and knowing everything he didn’t know how to say yet, didn’t know if he should.

Merlin chuckled beside him. “Arthur,” he called into Arthur’s thoughts. 

Arthur looked over at him from the corner of his eye. Merlin was smiling warmly, but now that Arthur was finally able to look at him closely, he could see how Merlin still looked a little too pale under the moonlight. Although, his eyes regained some of their sparkle making Arthur almost sigh at the familiarity among all the strange things happening. He looked at the slumped lines of Merlin’s shoulders, at the exhausted way Merlin’s hands were folded in his lap. Arthurs hands ached at the need to reach over and ease the tension from them.

Keeping his eyes fixed on Merlin’s hands, Arthur whispered, “Why don’t you want to leave?” he didn’t know how to phrase the question, _why don’t you want to leave Camelot?_ _Why don’t you use your magic and run?_ Or the more honest, _is it because you don’t want to leave me?_

“It’s not easy to explain,” Merlin sighed, his smile almost gone.

“Try me,” Arthur said, raising his eyes to look at Merlin’s sharp profile. He wasn’t looking at Arthur now, but out into the distance. 

Merlin turned to look at him with shining eyes at that, the moon doing little to show their lovely shade of blue that Arthur had feared he would never see up close again.

“Because it’s my destiny,” Merlin answered, his voice mimicking Arthur’s hushed tone, making Arthur lean closer instinctively. “It's my destiny to be here by your side. It's where I'm supposed to be.” He spoke those words with so much conviction that it made Arthur believe it too. He spoke it like those words held the answer to Merlin’s entire existence. It made Arthur’s breath catch in his throat.

“Merlin,” Arthur started, almost knocked back by the intensity of Merlin’s gaze. He didn’t know what to say _, Merlin, your life is more important. Merlin, to hell with destiny if it meant I'd have to watch you die in the worst way imaginable. Merlin, I can't bear the thought of harm coming to you._

“If it were me,” Arthur ended up saying, his voice croaky. “If it were me facing execution, would you run?”

Merlin’s only answer was a knowing smile that almost broke Arthur’s heart.

“But not for yourself.” It wasn’t a question this time.

The silence stretched between them at that. It was an impressive impasse they got themselves into. Arthur would’ve been impressed with Merlin’s negotiation skills hadn’t he been too busy trying to stop himself from reaching over and grabbing Merlin’s hand to run away like two star-crossed lovers in the dead of night. He briefly wondered how his mind jumped from the idea of helping Merlin run to imagining him not going anywhere without Arthur.

Arthur, no longer able to hold himself from acting on the first part of his fantasy at least, allowed his hands to reach over and hold Merlin’s gently. Merlin seemed to welcome it, holding Arthur’s hands carefully like they were the most delicate thing he had ever held. As if Arthur’s hands had never seen battle or touched the hilt of a sword, as if they were something precious. There was a certain familiarity in it that seemed to ground Arthur; anchoring him during a night that had uprooted everything he’d thought he knew. The familiar feeling, Arthur realized, was because of how this gentleness had always been present in the way Merlin had always touched him. The same careful gentleness had been there when he helped him dress or into his armor. He’d come to expect it, he knew. Had come to take it for granted until he’d almost lost this gentleness along with the man who so generously offered it to him. Now that he had it back, he knew he would never let it go, renewing his vow that he had made earlier that night to himself. Merlin’s hands were cold but familiar, their touch as comforting as the smell of his mother’s favorite flower, Purple Crocus as Gaius had told him once.

“I can—” Merlin spoke first, his hands tensing in Arthur’s, the only sign of his nervousness. Merlin was looking at their hands when he said, “I can understand if you're rethinking—”

“I’m not rethinking anything.” Arthur was quick to answer. He had no idea what Merlin was referring to; his feelings, his reaction to Merlin’s hidden magic, or helping him now. It didn’t matter, Arthur’s answer to all of it would be the same.

Merlin smiled at their hands and was silent for a long time.

“You know that it’s yours, right?” Merlin spoke softly to their hands. Before Arthur could ask, Merlin was looking at him, the shining tears in his eyes bringing Arthur’s entire thought process into a screeching halt. “My magic? You're the reason I have it.”

Arthur raised both Merlin’s hands to his lips at that, giving each a gentle kiss. Each a promise of devotion and gratitude, each a whispered _I love you_ and _I'm sorry_ and _I will never let go of you ever again._

“Arthur,” he could hear Merlin whisper his name like a prayer.

Before Arthur could say anything to it, a movement to his right made him jump, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword as approaching steps neared them. Arthur only let his hand wander back to join his other holding Merlin’s when he could see it was Morgana who was running towards them across the field.

“I got the crystal,” Morgana said, waving it in the air with a triumphant smile, panting slightly, her cloak askew over her shoulders

Merlin pulled Arthur up at that and they both walked to her, neither willing to let go of the other just yet.

…

Arthur caught himself whistling a familiar melody as he looked over a few reports he had received earlier that day, not managing to summon much interest in them instead of staring dreamily out the window closest to him. 

Summer was finally arriving in full swing to Camelot and with it, the news that the blight that plagued its farmlands for months had simply disappeared as if it never existed. Arthur had been receiving report after report all week and they all held slightly varying versions of the same news; crops were growing healthier than before the disease that harmed them and that that year’s harvest was expected to be the most plentiful in years.

 _It’s as if the disease had disappeared overnight, sire._ Leon had told him when he had seen him earlier that day.

Arthur had tried not to smile at the memory of said night when Leon had spoken those words, because there was something seriously wrong with remembering all the laws they had broken and the emotional upheaval that Arthur went through that night with anything resembling fondness. They had been lucky to get away with anything they had done. Only Arthur couldn’t bring himself to feel too regretful about it, not now that they had managed to save Merlin’s life in time, not now that had learnt Merlin’s truth, that he knew him as all he was.

Arthur couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but happy at the memory of the night that had made them what they were to each other now.

Arthur heard the whistled melody coming from his chambers while he was still in the hallway, having given up on reading any more reports. He smiled and opened the door.

Sneaking into the room as quietly as possible, Arthur tried his hardest not to run inside like an overeager puppy. He waited until the tune changed into Arthur’s favorite, like he knew Merlin would. Arthur would tease him about only knowing how to whistle three melodies wasn’t it his second favorite part about watching Merlin work around his chambers now. A close second to the way he was allowed to stop throwing stolen glances Merlin’s way now that he didn’t have to hide his staring.

Arthur walked carefully further into the room when Merlin was standing by Arthur’s desk, his back completely to him. He wrapped his arms around Merlin’s waist from behind and pulled him towards him. It earned him a soft yelp before Merlin relaxed into Arthur’s arms. Arthur rested his head in the soft space between Merlin’s neck and shoulder and breathed him in.

“I’m working, you know,” Merlin said in put-on annoyance that didn’t quite mask the smile in his voice.

Arthur rolled his eyes, tightening his grip on Merlin’s waist and pulling him towards him further, speaking into his neck. “Like you don’t need to speak a word to get it all done.”

Arthur could feel Merlin’s chuckle vibrate through his body and felt his heartbeat pick up at the beautiful sound. He kissed the spot behind Merlin’s ears just because he could and trailed Merlin’s arms from behind, sliding his fingers over them until he laced his fingers through Merlin’s. He sighed when Merlin leant against him for a moment and marveled at the way their bodies felt like they were made to fit like this.

“Play it for me,” Arthur whispered softly.

Arthur could feel Merlin’s smile stretch across his face. “Play what, Sire?” the perfectly polite question would’ve fooled Arthur at any other time.

“The music, _Merlin._ ” Even the way he tried to pour irritation into his words turned into endearment. Arthur couldn’t bring himself to care.

Merlin scoffed gently but his smile was still there when he said, “as you wish, my lord.”

There wasn’t even a whispered word or a single movement to indicate Merlin had done anything. Facing his back like this, Arthur didn’t even get to watch the magic within him rise to his command in his eyes, but now there was soft flute music drowning the room around them, like some flute player has just materialized into Arthur’s chambers to play just for them.

The moment the music filled his chambers, Arthur turned Merlin around in his arms, his hands reaching over to hold Merlin’s in his again when they were facing each other. Merlin was smiling as Arthur pulled him closer again, this time moving to the music slowly. It was a dance Arthur had learnt as a boy and had been trying to teach to Merlin for days; keyword trying, because if Merlin was hopeless at any kind of physical exercise that required focusing, he was absolutely useless at dancing, but their small dancing lessons had given Arthur yet another reason to be close to Merlin and he couldn't say he minded Merlin's complete lack of coordination that lengthened them. Arthur had never had much care for dancing before, never thought it had any purpose but a political tool when he needed to use it, learning the steps and the movements like he would a new fighting technique. Now, having Merlin laughing in his arms at the way his feet kept getting caught up in Arthur’s, he never saw himself doing it for any other reason than to hear that laugh.

Arthur lent over and caught Merlin’s lips in his. Merlin quickly gave into it, still holding Arthur’s waist with one hand, his other gripping Arthur’s hand tighter.

“I’ll never learn it properly if you don’t let me see how,” Merlin complained once they were apart, but it was a soft whisper against Arthur’s lips, spoken through a smile.

“Nothing to do with your inability to walk in a straight line, let alone carefully measured steps, then,” Arthur teased, deliberately moving fast and pulling Merlin along with him, enjoying the way Merlin stumbled into his chest before correcting himself.

Three foreign spoken words came out from Merlin’s mouth at that and a flash of magic in Merlin’s eyes distracted Arthur momentarily before Merlin’s feet seemed to get a life of their own, his body snapping immaculately upright in the proper position for the dance and holding Arthur’s waist better than Arthur’s best teachers had ever done. To Arthur’s great astonishment, Merlin was _dancing_ , actually and properly dancing with Arthur to the music.

Arthur momentarily struggled to keep up until his laughter realizing what had happened echoed in the room, eventually broking the spell around them, quite literally because Merlin had stopped moving. It was a relief to feel Merlin slump back into his arms, his body losing the posture it acquired by the magic.

The music was still playing and Merlin’s face was flushed as he looked sheepishly from his feet to Arthur’s no doubt amused expression.

“How did you even find a spell for that?” Arthur tried to sound scolding, but couldn’t help the fondness in his voice. He was truly and utterly gone for the wonder of a man in his arms.

“By accident? I didn’t even know it would work _like that_ ,” he answered. “Good thing I didn’t try it in public, or my head would be on the chopping block by now.”

Arthur’s smile fell so fast that he didn’t realize he'd pulled Merlin towards him harder than he'd intended. He released Merlin’s hand from his grip on reflex, noticing the sharp inhale of breath Merlin gave at the intensity of Arthur's reaction.

Merlin, however, didn’t move a fraction away, Arthur’s hand was held back in his almost instantly, his touch as gentle and tender as ever. Arthur felt his breaths calm down just by its presence. He closed his eyes and leaned forward until his forehead rested upon Merlin’s, breathing deeply. Merlin’s free hand was now in Arthur’s hair, softly brushing the strands by his neck.

“I was only joking, you know,” Merlin whispered, his tone forcibly light.

Arthur didn’t correct him, but felt himself calm down further by Merlin’s gentle touches. “I would never let it happen,” Arthur promised, as he did many times.

“I know.”

Arthur sighed as Merlin’s unspoken _I can protect myself, if I need it_ passed between them. Those were the words he used to counter Arthur’s fears with when Arthur would wake up from another nightmare, searching for Merlin in the dark. Merlin would always hold him and ease him back to sleep with whispered words of nothings until Arthur was alright again.

Arthur had used many versions of those words to calm himself as well. It was logical and true, Merlin could protect himself well without anyone’s help. Arthur’s irrational fears, however, stubbornly refused to listen, gnawing at him every time he remembered that night. He could hardly help it. Ever since he had had to let go of Merlin once more so he could go back to the cell after performing the harnessing spell, Arthur hadn't been able to breathe properly with the strength of it. Merlin had tightened his grip on Arthur’s hand as a parting reassuring gesture then, nodding, putting his life entirely in Arthur's hands once more. 

Arthur had had to wait until morning light to go to his father. He had been exhausted with sleep deprivation and worry about something happening to Merlin in the dungeons after performing such powerful magic. He had gathered every last shred of strength he had as he tried to convince Uther that, since the disease had vanished, that Merlin must've had nothing to do with it because he was in the cells the entire night. 

As per plan, earlier that meeting, Gaius had come forward and told Uther it was him who had sent Merlin to gather soil samples. How it must've been a magical attack by the disease that had made him appear to be using magic to cause it. Uther hadn’t patted an eye in Arthur’s direction, busy in his council meeting reviewing reports of the lands recovering miraculously, as he declared Merlin’s sentence null.

Now, holding Merlin in his arms, after coming too close to losing him, after everything they’ve shared since then, after everything that Merlin had told him, Arthur knew he’d never let that slip from between his hands ever again. It was like nothing had changed and everything had. The instinct to protect Merlin had tripled, despite his magic, and maybe because of it, as it had always been there before. The instinct to be with all him all the time, and to hold him near was as strong. The only difference was that Arthur was learning to notice it, to appreciate it and to hold it close to his heart.

Arthur’s hands had a new purpose now that was all, to hold another’s heart gently, to protect it, to love it with all he was, and to learn that it was alright for him to crave that love and to have it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would really appreciate to hear your thoughts on this chapter.
> 
> I made a playlist to help me write this story. I'm linking it [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLssFXK2D7LUdkCCRZPTrS0Xv2Yn1UBLof) in case anyone wants to check it out. It contains the [piece of music ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=be1jJCH32OU&list=PLssFXK2D7LUdkCCRZPTrS0Xv2Yn1UBLof&index=12) that inspired the epilogue. It's the music Merlin's spell caused to play and what Merlin had been whistling when Arthur surprised him in his chambers. 
> 
> All love to you. thank you for sticking up with this story until it was done. I hope I did it justice.
> 
> My tumblr: [Witchmd13](https://witchmd13.tumblr.com/)


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